487F 


The  Whimsy  Girl 


.  OF  GALIF.  UMAM.  LO8 


SOMETIMES,'  SHE  RESUMED  IN  A  MYS- 
TERIOUS UNDERTONE,  THE  CLOUDS  COME 
VERY  LOW,  AN'  Y'  CAN  HEAR  ?EM  TALKING." 
—(Page  16.) 


The  Whimsy  Girl 

By 

Charlotte  Canty 


Frontispiece  by 
Robert  W.  Amick 


New  York 

Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 
1913 


COPYRIGHT,  1913,  BY 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

Published,  September,  1D1S 


To 

"WENDY" 

(Carlin  Eastwood) 

who  made  life  possible  for 

THE  BOY 

and 
WITCHIE 


2129320 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAOB 

I  THE  PRINCESS  OF  THE  HILLTOP  1 

II  A    CHANGE    OF    ROLES        .        .  20 

III  THE  CROOKED  MOON  SPRITE     .  37 

IV  THE  SEA  TYKES          ...  56 
V  THE  BOY  PLANS  A  GIFT       .        .  71 

VI  THROUGH  THE  MAGIC  PANE        .      90 
VII  HERALDING     THE     FAIRY     GOD- 
MOTHER      106 

VIII  EARTHQUAKE  AND  FIRE       .        .    123 

IX  UNDER   MARTIAL   LAW       .        .14?! 

X  IN  THE  HOUR  OF  DISASTER       .    156 

XI  COMPANIONS   IN   PERIL       .        .   160 

XII  "  NOT  HEAVEN,— BUT  HOME  "  .    170 


The  Whimsy  Girl 


CHAPTER  I 

THE   PRINCESS  OF  THE  HILLTOP 

"A  PATIENT  down  here,  Dad?"  Bob  Bur- 
chard  looked  up  into  the  doctor's  face  for 
his  answering  nod  as  the  motor-car  swung 
along  through  a  jumble  of  crossing  streets 
in  San  Francisco's  Latin  quarter.  "  Looks 
as  though  some  naughty  child  had  stolen  the 
scissors  and  cut  up  the  city  pie-fashion," 
he  pursued,  for  the  streets  crossed  at  many 
angles,  and  regularity  was  a  lost  word.  The 
buildings,  quaintly  shaped  to  fit  their  sharp- 
pointed  lots,  had  a  curious  air  of  having 
purposely  twisted  themselves  out  of  line,  and 
some  of  them  seemed  ready  to  perform  fur- 
ther gymnastic  feats. 

The  doctor  laughed,  and  the  Boy  went  on : 

"  This  is  the  village  of  Choppy  Town ; 
The  streets  run  up  and  the  streets  run  down, 


2  The  Whimsy  Girl 

And  any  wandering  alley  may 

Shove  your  house  right  out  of  its  way 

Unless 

"  Why,  Dad,  we're  not  going  up  Tele- 
graph Hill,  are  we?  " 

"  Up  the  hill,"  returned  the  doctor,  smil- 
ingly. "Why  not,  Boy?  The  street  goes 
right  up." 

"  Yes,  it  does ;  but  I'll  bet  it  was  dragged, 
stoned,  beaten  and  pounded  into  going  up. 
It's  like  a  flat  band  put  on  to  hold  the  hill 
down  in  place.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  some 
day  the  hill  would  rise  up,  wiggle  that  flat 
road  to  pieces  and  shake  it  off,  going  back 
to  its  own  natural  curving  dips  and  winding 
ways.  I  haven't  been  up  here  since  I  was  a 
youngster,  have  I  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not ;  certainly  not  during 
your  school  years.  But  you'll  find  the  other 
side  of  the  hill  unchanged;  as  rough  and 
broken  up  and  hard  to  climb  as  even  you 
will  desire.  We'll  leave  the  machine  at  the 
top  and  walk  down  to  the  house." 


The  Princess  of  the  Hilltop       3 

"  And  who's  your  patient,  Dad  ?  " 

"  A  little  girl ;  the  daughter  of  a  Greek 
fisherman." 

"  Aren't  they  fascinating  chaps, — those 
Greeks  that  drift  here?  I've  often  spent 
hours  down  at  the  wharf  watching  them  furl 
their  brown  lateen  sails,  or  .take  in  their 
nets.  They're  a  picturesque  lot;  half  of 
them  look  like  poets,  and  half  like  pirates. 
Queer  to  find  such  types  in  an  American 
city." 

"  Nearly  all  nationalities  are  represented 
here  on  Telegraph  Hill,"  returned  the  doc- 
tor. "  My  little  patient  is  an  odd  composite, 
— Polish  mother,  Greek  father, — a  pair  of 
eager  young  visionaries  who  came  to  this 
country  with  Heaven  knows  what  high  dream 
in  their  hearts.  But  the  poor  mother  was 
injured  and  died  at  the  child's  birth, 
and  the  little  mite  has  spent  her  whole 
life  in  one  small  room.  She  has  never 
walked." 


4  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"But  who  takes  care  of  her?  "  asked  the 
Boy,  his  attention  instantly  engaged. 

"  Care?  Well,  she  doesn't  get  very  much 
care.  There's  a  step-mother,  and  a  brood 
of  small  children;  I  haven't  been  able  to 
count  them  as  yet.  The  father  has  become 
a  broken-spirited  toiler;  he  hasn't  even  kept 
his  lamp  of  hope  burning,  and  that's  bad,  for 
one  who  is  by  nature  silent  and  melancholy. 
But  Bianca  has  learned  to  endure,  and  she 
doesn't  look  for  much  care.  I'd  like  to  send 
her  to  a  hospital,  but  these  ignorant  for- 
eigners are  frightened  at  the  very  word. 
Still,  the  small  girl's  coming  along  well. 
You'll  be  interested  in  her.  Her  case,  by  the 
way,  is  very  like  that  of  Donald  Hallowell." 

"  Good  old  Don ! "  exclaimed  the  Boy. 
"  Doesn't  it  make  you  feel  like  swelling  up 
till  you  smash  your 'ribs  every  time  you  see 
him?  Think  what  a  sick  little  tyke  he  was 
two  years  ago!  He's  as  husky  now  as  any 
fellow  of  his  age,  and  he's  going  to  make  a 


The  Princess  of  the  Hilltop       5 

whacking  good  football  player.  No  wonder 
his  mother's  so  happy  these  days." 

"  Yes,  she  is  happy,"  the  doctor  agreed, 
"  and  she's  very  proud  of  her  boy.  But 
still  she  has  her  lonely  hours,  with  Donald 
at  school  and  no  other  child  in  the  home. 
I  wish » 

The  doctor  did  not  say  what  he  wished, 
for  the  machine  had  started  to  climb  the 
steep  hill,  and  it  required  his  whole  atten- 
tion. '  But  the  Boy  was  free  to  look  about 
at  a  crowd  of  children,  gathering  from  every 
direction  around  the  car.  His  first  im- 
pression was  a  blur  of  smudgy  faces  and 
shining  dark  eyes;  in  those  points  all  the 
children  seemed  alike.  A  closer  look  showed 
that  they  were  of  many  nations ; — Italian, 
French,  Hebrew,  German,  Irish,  Syrian; 
there  were  one  or  two  Chinese  mites  and  a 
Japanese  lad  of  seven  or  eight,  who  found  it 
hard  work  to  stay  ahead  of  a  small  and  very 
black  African.  Hill-climbing  autos  were  still 


6  The  Whimsy  Girl 

a  novelty,  and  the  children  scampered  about 
the  machine,  keeping  even  with  its  slack- 
ened pace  and  chattering  in  excitement. 
Every  house  contributed  a  child  or  two,  and 
the  crowd  grew  steadily. 

The  Boy  turned  a  quizzical  face  to  his 
father. 

"  Now,  honest,  Dad,  are  you  or  are  you 
not  the  Pied  Piper?  Do  you  intend  to  shut 
'em  up  in  the  hill  when  you  get  to  the  top  ?  " 

"Thought  you'd  enjoy  it,"  remarked  the 
doctor,  with  an  amused  glance  at  their  eager 
retinue ;  and  he  waved  a  signal  to  a  big  boy 
at  the  edge  of  the  crowd.  "  That's  Bap- 
tiste,"  he  explained.  "  I  pay  him  a  nickel 
to  guard  the  car  while  I  go  down  to  my 
patient.  The  children  stay  around  the  ma- 
chine, but  Baptiste  won't  let  one  of  them 
touch  it." 

The  lad  was  already  getting  his  army 
under  control.  At  his  command  the  chil- 
dren fell  back,  until,  at  the  summit  of  the 


The  Princess  of  the  Hilltop       7 

hill,  where  the  doctor  and  the  Boy  stepped 
out,  Baptiste  proudly  patrolled  two  feet  of 
clear  space  around  the  car. 

"  This  way,"  called  the  doctor,  briskly, 
but  a  new  vision  had  enchained  the  Boy; — 
the  widespread  picture  of  San  Francisco 
Bay  lying  before  them.  They  could  see  the 
long  sweep  of  it,  from  the  far  channels 
where  lie  the  deep-water  ships  at  rest,  to  the 
Golden  Gate  where  they  sail  out  upon  the 
world's  great  seas. 

"  Come  on,  son,"  called  the  doctor  again, 
and  the  Boy  obeyed,  following  his  father 
down  some  crazy  stairs,  stuck  crookedly  into 
the  clay  hill. 

"  Careful ! "  warned  the  doctor,  but  the 
Boy  was  now  alert,  studying  the  curious  lit- 
ter of  discarded  objects  along  the  path.  Old 
kitchen  utensils,  empty  tomato  cans,  corn 
cobs  and  piles  of  corn  husks  had  to  be 
avoided  if  one  would  walk  the  steep  and 
narrow  way.  Bob  stopped  to  look  about, 


8  The  Whimsy  Girl 

and  the  doctor  waited,  while  he  surveyed  the 
queer  little  village  of  shacks  and  shanties 
hung  upon  the  side  of  the  hill. 

Most  of  the  dwellings  were  unpainted  or 
1  whitewashed.  All  were  pitched  at  a  pre- 
carious angle  on  the  slope.  There  were  few 
fences ;  the  houses  might  be  private,  but  the 
yards  were  common  property,  open  thor- 
oughfares. Crooked  footpaths  led  in  and 
out  among  them,  and  one  might  walk  with 
some  security  along  these  until  challenged 
by  a  belligerent  or  over-playful  goat.  For 
each  household  there  seemed  to  be  at  least 
one  goat ;  some  yards  held  two  or  three,  and 
perhaps  a  bleating  kid. 

The  Boy  looked  at  his  father,  his  eyes 
shining  with  amusement  and  interest. 

"  Are  we  really  on  the  outside  of  the  hill, 
Dad?  Or  have  you  magicked  us  inside  to 
another  world  ?  " 

"We're  outside,  safe  enough,"  rejoined 
the  doctor,  "  but  it's  probably  one  of  the 


The  Princess  of  the  Hilltop       9 

most  curious  communities  in  the  world. 
Poverty  is  picturesque  in  a  place  like  this," 
he  went  on,  indicating  the  magnificent  view 
of  blue  bay  and  beautiful  surrounding  hills. 

"  Picturesque,  yes,"  agreed  the  Boy, 
"  but — look  out !  You're  getting  tangled 
up  in  that  old  bed-spring!  Evidently,"  he 
laughed,  as  the  doctor  untangled  himself 
from  the  wires,  "  the  inhabitants  of  this 
bird's-nest  village  look  so  much  at  the  out- 
side view  that  they  haven't  time  to  see  this 
unsightly  muddle  at  their  feet.  All  right, 
Dad?" 

"  All  right,"  rejoined  the  doctor,  throw- 
ing the  snarl  of  wire  aside.  "  Here  we  are 
at  the  castle  of  the  Princess  Bianca,"  and  he 
clambered  down  over  a  pile  of  empty  bottles 
and  walked  along  a  weed-bordered  path  to 
a  doorsill  made  of  two  old  soap-boxes. 

The  Boy  stared  at  the  "  castle  " ;  it  was 
little  more  than  a  whitewashed  shed,  orig- 
inally built  of  scrap  lumber  and  patched 


10  The  Whimsy  Girl 

with  fragments  of  canvas,  bits  of  old  tin, 
or  lengths  of  waste  wood.  There  was  no 
window,  but  the  single  narrow  door  was 
ajar,  held  open  by  a  crude  hook  that  fas- 
tened it  to  the  wall.  The  doctor  stood  for  a 
moment  on  the  threshold,  and  the  Boy 
joined  him,  looking  curiously  at  the  little 
patient  within. 

She  was  a  tiny  girl,  thin  and  white.  Her 
eyes  and  hair  looked  dark  at  the  first 
glance,  but  when  the  Boy  stepped  indoors 
he  could  see  that  there  were  golden  lights  in 
the  eyes  and  that  her  hair  was  a  rich 
bronze.  A  grave  sweetness  gave  distinc- 
tion to  her  delicate  face,  and  she  tried  to 
smile  in  response  to  the  doctor's  cheery 
greeting. 

"How's  my  little  Bianca  to-day?"  he 
asked,  stepping  close  to  the  bed. 

She  looked  at  him,  her  eyes  very  solemn. 

"  How  do  you  feel  ?  "  he  pursued. 

She  shook  her  head  wearily. 


The  Princess  of  the  Hilltop     11 

"  Punk,"  she  answered. 

The  Boy  could  not  repress  a  gasp,  but  the 
small  patient  was  giving  her  whole  attention 
to  his  father. 

"  Is  the  pain  so  hard?  "  asked  the  doctor, 
sympathetically. 

"Bet  it  is,"  said  the  little  girl.  "It's 
sump'n  fierce." 

"  Well,  well,  well,"  he  rejoined  heartily, 
to  cover  a  choking  sound  from  the  Boy. 
"  And  I  thought  that  it  wasn't  going  to 
hurt  much,  didn't  I?" 

"  Yes,"  she  assented.  "  You  said  that  it 
wouldn't  be  very  bad,  but  I  knew  you  were 
only  jollyinV 

Again  the  Boy  had  a  struggle  to  control 
his  laughter.  Slang  passed  unchallenged 
among  his  friends,  circulating  as  the  ac- 
cepted coinage  of  speech,  but  slang  from  a 
child  of  this  ethereal  type  was  very  differ- 
ent from  slang  on  the  lips  of  a  college  fresh- 
man. She  could  not  be  more  than  five  years 


12  The  Whimsy  Girl 

old,  he  thought;  six,  at  most.  Keenly  in- 
terested, he  came  forward  to  be  presented. 
"  My  boy, — my  son  Robert,  Bianca,"  said 
the  doctor. 

The  little  girl  studied  him  in  shy  silence. 

"  He's  a  big  fellow,  isn't  he  ?  "  went  on 
Dr.  Burchard.  "  But,  you  see,  he  hasn't 
had  to  lie  in  bed  all  his  life,  as  you  have. 
Sometimes  he  helps  me  when  he  goes  about 
with  me ;  I'll  have  him  give  me  a  hand  with 
you  now,  just  to  show  you." 

And  while  the  doctor  directed,  the  Boy 
moved  quickly  about,  helping  to  get  the  lit- 
tle patient  more  comfortably  settled  in  her 
ragged  bed. 

"  It's  pretty  mussy,"  she  apologised,  "  and 
not  so  very  clean,  but  the  kids  on  the  hill 
come  to  see  me,  y'  know,  an'  they  climb  all 
over  it." 

"  All  over  your  bed !  "  exclaimed  the  Boy. 

"  Sure,"  she  rejoined.  "  Seven  or  eight 
of  'em,  sometimes.  It's  good  an'  wide;  four 


The  Princess  of  the  Hilltop     13 

of  us  sleep  in  it  every  night,"  she  added, 
proudly. 

The  doctor  looked  up  swiftly  and  frowned. 

"  You've  never  told  me  that  before,"  he 
said.  "  Isn't  there  any  other  place  for 
those  children  to  sleep?  " 

"  Nope,"  she  answered,  with  uncomplain- 
ing candour.  "  That's  the  worst  of  it  with 
babies.  If  they  were  kittens  y'  could  put 
'em  into  baskets  an'  shove  'em  under  the 
stove,  but  y'  can't  do  that  with  children." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  agreed  the  doctor, 
but  he  was  still  frowning,  and  he  added 
abruptly :  "  Where's  your  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  got  a  job.  Mis'  Steinhauer, 
the  butcher's  wife,  got  a  new  baby,  an'  ma's 
goin'  to  take  care  o'  the  old  one  an'  help 
with  the  work.  She's  goin'  to  get  a  dollar 
a  day  for  it, — just  as  much  as  the  old  man 
makes,"  she  boasted,  sweetly. 

"Can  you  beat  that?"  chaffed  the  Boy. 
But  the  doctor  looked  grave  and  turned 


14  The  Whimsy  Girl 

away ;  he  crossed  to  the  door  and  stood  there, 
his  thoughtful  frown  deepening. 

"  He'd  have  to  go  some  to  beat  it,"  ob- 
served Bianca.  "  But  I  guess  he  must  come 
near  it.  The  kids  on  the  hill  are  all  crazy 
about  his  aut'mobile;  one  o'  them  said  that 
it  must  be  worth  pretty  near  a  hundred  dol- 
lars. Is  it?  "  she  demanded. 

"  It's  worth  pretty  far  from  a  hundred 
dollars,"  said  the  Boy,  smiling  as  he  men- 
tally reviewed  the  expensive  fittings  of  the 
doctor's  new  machine. 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Bianca,  with  a  wise 
little  nod  of  her  head.  "  He  couldn't  spend 
that  much  on  one  aut'mobile.  Doctors  don't 
really  work,  do  they  ?  " 

"  I've  always  thought  they  do,  Bianca," 
said  the  Boy. 

"  Well,  they  always  seem  to  wear  their 
Sunday  clothes,"  she  reasoned.  "  I've  never 
seen  him  with  a  blue  flannel  shirt  on, — not 
even  once." 


The  Princess  of  the  Hilltop     15 

The  Boy  laughed  ringingly,  and  the  doc- 
tor strolled  back  from  the  open  door  and 
made  ready  to  leave. 

"  I'm  coming  again  to-morrow,"  he  said. 
"  Will  you  ask  your  mother  to  be  here, 
Bianca?  Tell  her  that  I  want  to  talk  to 
her;  that  I  must  see  her." 

"  I'm  coming,  too,"  said  the  Boy.  "  Will 
you  let  me  come,  Bianca?  " 

"  Sure,"  she  rejoined  in  her  light,  high 
voice,  and  her  dark  eyes  sparkled  with 
pleasure.  "Do  you  like  my  house?"  she 
unexpectedly  added. 

"  Like  your  house !  "  The  Boy  was  some- 
what taken  aback.  "  Why, — your  house  is 
— is — all  right,  Bianca,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so,"  said  the  little  girl, 
relieved.  "  Anyway,  the  hill  is,  an'  we  have 
the  Bay  an'  we  have  the  winds — oh,  they're 
lots  of  fun.  The  little  ones  sing  an'  the  big 
ones  scold,  an'  up  in  our  sky  the  clouds  run 
races — but  the  black  ones  nearly  always 


16  The  Whimsy  Girl 

beat.  There  aren't  any  black  ones  there 
now,  are  there?  "  She  bent  her  neck,  scan- 
ning her  world  of  hillside  and  bay  and  sky. 
"No;  they're  just  the  fat,  lazy,  white  kind; 
they're  the  breasts  of  the  sky  swans,  sailing 
about  in  the  blue." 

She  lay  silent  watching  them,  and  the 
Boy  waited  in  wordless  amaze. 

"  Sometimes,"  she  resumed  in  a  mysterious 
undertone,  "  the  clouds  come  very  low,  an' 
y'  can  hear  'em  talking,  but  y'  have  to 
listen  hard  or  y'  won't  hear  what  they  say; 
I  often  know  when  they're  goin'  to  have  a 
party,  an'  they  dress  up  in  pink  an'  laven- 
der and  yellow.  It's  always  in  the  afternoon 
when  the  grey  water  goes  out  o'  the  bay, 
an'  the  gold  water  comes  in  an'  splashes 
about  the  ships." 

"You  little— little  whimsy  girl!"  ex- 
claimed the  Boy.  "  Can  you  get  all  that 
much  from  just  the  bit  of  the  world  that 
you  can  see  through  this  doorway?"  He 


The  Princess  of  the  Hilltop     17 

studied  the  view  permitted  to  her;  the  hill 
sloped  abruptly  down  from  the  doorway,  cut- 
ting off  from  her  sight  everything  but  the 
sky  and  the  Bay  and  a  glimpse  of  distant  hills 
lying  beyond  the  water  and  the  mist. 

"Get  all— all  what?"  The  little  girl 
was  startled  back  into  her  commonplace 
mood. 

"  All  that  you've  been  telling  me,"  said 
the  Boy,  his  keen  glance  coming  back  to  her. 
"  I  must  go  now,  but  I'll  come  to-mor- 
row, and  we'll  talk  things  over,"  and  he 
darted  out  at  the  doorway  to  follow  his 
father. 

Dr.  Burchard  was  hastening  up  the  steep 
path,  his  head  down,  his  face  very  serious, 
and  the  Boy  followed  in  silence  until  they 
reached  the  motor-car  and  Baptiste.  The 
car  was  still  an  object  of  curious  attention, 
but  the  valiant  guard  patrolled  his  two  feet 
of  clear  space  and  the  children  kept  at  a 
safe  distance.  In  front  of  the  machine  and 


18  The  WUmsy  Girl 

behind  it  Baptiste  had  compact  stacks  of 
rocks,  placed  within  easy  reach. 

"  To  keep  off  the  fraish  keed,"  he  ex- 
plained, with  the  most  engaging  of  smiles. 
"  Sometimes  fraish  keed  come,  make  lots 
tr-rouble — not  stay  back  weeth  other  bunch ; 
then  I  peeck  up  r-rock,  an'  he  get  away 
prett'  queeck." 

He  had  demolished  the  neat  piles  and 
scattered  the  rocks  by  the  time  Dr.  Bur- 
chard  entered  the  car.  The  Boy  waited  to 
pay  Baptiste  and  then  sprang  in  beside  his 
father. 

"  Dad,"  he  said,  eagerly,  "  I  want  to  come 
again  to  see  Bianca,  if  I  may.  She's  the 
most  interesting " 

"  She's  the  most  pitifully  neglected  child 
I  know,"  said  the  doctor,  roused.  "  Fancy 
crowding  other  children  into  that  bed  with 
her  at  night!  There's  something  wrong 
with  the  machine,  Boy.  Get  out  and  look 
at  the  crank,  will  you?  " 


The  Princess  of  the  Hilltop     19 

The  Boy  rose  instantly  and  leaped  out 
of  the  car,  but  instead  of  the  light  touch  of 
his  feet  on  firm  ground,  he  felt  the  jar  of 
an  unsteady  obstacle,  a  sharp  wrench  at  his 
knee  as  he  struggled  to  regain  his  balance; 
and  he  went  down  heavily  among  the  rocks 
that  Baptiste  had  scattered  over  the  road. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  CHANGE  OF  ROUES 

IT  was  more  than  a  week  before  the  Boy  again 
made  the  trip  with  his  father  up  the  steep 
slope  of  Telegraph  Hill.  This  time  he  was 
the  centre  of  interest  as  the  band  of  children 
followed,  for  beside  him  in  the  tonneau  lay 
a  pair  of  new  crutches.  Many  of  the  chil- 
dren had  been  present  when  he  fell  on  the 
rocks  that  Baptiste  had  scattered  in  the 
road,  and  the  accident  had  been  fully  dis- 
cussed, so  that  those  who  had  not  seen  it 
knew  almost  as  much  about  it  as  the  ones 
who  had.  Crowding  about  the  car  they 
clamoured  questions  and  congratulations  in 
a  confused  jumble  that  made  it  hard  for 
the  Boy  to  listen  to  what  his  father  was 
saying.  He  understood  without  hearing  the 
20 


A  Change  of  Roles  21 

words,  however,  and  was  ready,  as  usual, 
with  a  cheerful  rejoinder. 

"  I'll  be  careful,  of  course,  Dad.  I  prom- 
ise on  my  crutches.  I'll  step  over  every 
ambushed  tomato  can  and  every  lurking  pile 
of  ashes,  and  *  they  sho'ly  won't  git  me,'  for 
I  will  watch  out,"  he  finished,  gaily  para- 
phrasing Riley. 

The  doctor  looked  dubious. 

"  If  I  were  convinced  that  it  would  do 
any  good,"  he  said.  "  I  mean,  of  course, 
in  proportion  to  the  risk  you  take " 

"  Why,  Dad,  you  know  I  did  Donald 
Hallowell  no  end  of  good  just  by  telling  him 
stories  when  he  was  strapped  down  to  his  bed. 
I  can't  go  to  school  with  this  outfit  of  extra 
wooden  legs,"  and  he  indicated  the  crutches. 
"  I'm  loafing  around  most  of  the  day  with 
only  half  enough  to  do.  And  if  I  can  help 
Bianca  as  I  did  Don — if  I  can  make  her 
forget  her  pain  just  by  spinning  a  yarn 
or  two " 


22  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"Donald's  case  was  very  different,"  re- 
monstrated the  doctor.  "He  didn't  live  in 
a  shack  on  a  cliff,  and  you  weren't  laid  up 
with  a  badly  wrenched  knee.  The  very  effort 
of  walking  down  the  hill  to  her  house  may 
be  too  much  for  you." 

"  Let  me  try,  Dad,"  coaxed  the  Boy.  "  If 
I  think  there's  any  danger  of  hurting  myself 
I'll  stand  still  and  call  for  you;  I'll  submit 
to  being  ingloriously  led  back  to  the  machine 
without  even  a  glance  at  the  castle  of  the 
Princess  Bianca." 

"  And  if  you  don't  have  to  call  for 
me?" 

"  Why,  then,  you'll  go  on  to  your  other 
patients,  leaving  Bianca  to  the  end  of  your 
list.  When  you  get  through  there  I'll  go 
home  with  you." 

The  doctor  was  still  unconvinced  when  he 
brought  his  machine  to  a  standstill  at  the 
top  of  the  hill,  and  he  watched  with  some 
concern  as  the  Boy  made  his  way  down  the 


A  Change  of  Roles  23 

slope,  sending  back  a  mock-heroic  mono- 
logue : 

"Hah,  you  lie  in  wait,  Sir  Lard  Can? 
Out  upon  you !  Think  you  that  I  fear  you, 
Corn  Cob?  And  you,  nestling  in  the  young 
April  grass,  what  are  you?  By  me  faith, 
an  ancient  coffee  pot,  sans  spout,  sans  bot- 
tom, sans  top,  sans  everything!  A  blow  of 
me  spear  and  you're  down,  villain,  over  the 
cliff!  Aha!" 

His  crutches  sent  the  various  objects  fly- 
ing right  and  left,  but  he  stopped  before  the 
pile  of  bottles  above  Bianca's  house.  The 
doctor  was  watching,  and  the  Boy  smiled  re- 
assuringly as  he  declaimed: 


"Sir  Robert  fixed  his  fiery  eye 
Upon  a  pile  of  bottles  high, 
Striving  to  meet  the  arching  sky. 

" '  Full  many  a  knight  there  might  be  found 
Who'd  scatter  thee  upon  the  ground; 
But  I— I  boldly  walk  around ! ' " 


24  The  Whimsy  Girl 

And  "  boldly "  he  walked  around  them, 
waving  a  crutch  from  Bianca's  doorsill  as 
the  doctor  started  the  automobile. 

The  little  girl  was  lying  very  still,  cuddled 
low  over  something  that  she  was  fondling  in 
her  hands.  She  straightened  up  with  a  crow 
of  greeting  as  the  Boy  looked  in  at  the  door, 
but  her  changeful  face  paled  at  sight  of  his 
crutches,  and  her  eyes  opened  wide. 

"  Aw,  kid,"  she  said  in  her  soft,  sweet 
voice,  "  do  you  have  to  carry  them  broom- 
sticks to  get  around  ?  " 

"  That's  what  I  do,"  cheerily  rejoined  the 
Boy.  "  But  I'm  lucky  to  get  around  at  all 
in  this  much  time." 

"Yes,"  said  the  little  girl.  "I  think 
you're  right,  there."  And  she  added  wist- 
fully :  "  D'  you  s'pose  the  doctor  could  rig 
up  a  pair  for  me? — eight-year-old  size?  " 

"  Eight !  "  cried  the  Boy  in  astonishment. 
"  You're  not  eight,  are  you,  Bianca  ?  " 

"  Eight  and  then  some,"  she  seriously  an- 


A  Change  of  Roles  25 

swered.  "  Eight  when  it  was  raining  so 
hard ; — January,  isn't  it,  when  it  rains?  An' 
now  it's " 

"It's  April,"  said  the  Boy.  "Just  the 
beginning  of  the  month  of  crocus  and  iris. 
Do  you  know  the  iris,  Bianca?  " 

"  Sure,"  she  replied.  "  Lots  o'  Irish  live 
on  the  hill.  There's  the  Higginses  an'  the 
Reillys  an'  the  Connellys — d'  you  know  their 
white  goat?  An' " 

"  I  said  iris,"  explained  the  Boy,  laugh- 
ing. "  It's  a  flower,  a  spring  flower " 

"  Jiminy !  A  flower  with  springs  in 
it?" 

"  Oh,  no.  I'll  have  to  get  some  for  you 
and  let  you  see.  May  I  sit  down?  "  he  asked, 
perching  on  the  edge  of  her  bed. 

"  Not  there  \  Jee-rusalem,  no ! "  she 
shrieked.  "  There's  somebody  right  under 
the  covers  there.  It's  Garibaldi.  Didn't  y* 
see  him  go  down  ?  " 

"Who?    What?    Where?"    The  Boy  was 


26  The  Whimsy  Girl 

groping  about  in  excitement  over  the  spot 
indicated. 

"Here.  Don't  move!  Ah-h-h!"  She 
stretched  down  in  some  inexplicable  way,  and 
dragged  up  from  the  tangle  of  torn  bed 
covers  a  blinking  horned  toad. 

"  I  was  talking  to  him  when  you  came  in," 
she  explained,  "  and  then  I  forgot  him.  But 
I  don't  want  him  all  squashed  up,"  she  went 
on,  caressing  him  tenderly. 

"  No,  of  course  not,"  warmly  agreed  the 
Boy,  looking  at  the  curious  creature. 
"  Where  in  the  world  did  you  get  him  ?  " 

"  One  o'  the  kids  on  the  hill  has  an  uncle 
that  lives  up  in  the  country,  an'  he  sent  him 
down  to  me ;  sent  him  scrunched  up  in  a  tiny 
box  with  his  tail  bent  up  over  his  head.  I 
thought  he'd  never  get  straightened  out,  but 
he's  all  right  now,"  she  observed,  screwing 
a  critical  eye  on  the  odd  little  pet  in  her 
palm. 

"What  do  you  call  him?" 


A  Change  of  Roles  27 

"  Julius  Caesar  Garibaldi." 

"  Some  class  to  that  name,"  observed  the 
Boy. 

"  I  could  have  had  one  twice  as  long," 
said  Bianca,  "  but  that's  long  enough  for  a 
horned  toad;  don't  y'  think  so?" 

"  Seems  so  to  me,"  he  gravely  agreed. 
"  Are  you  fond  of  naming  people  and  things, 
Bianca?  " 

She  blushed  and  was  silent. 

"  You  make  me  think  of  the  little  chap 
that  gave  me  my  name,"  he  went  on. 

"  Your  name?  "  Bianca  looked  up  ques- 
tioningly. 

"  Yes.  The  little  fellow  who  called  me 
the  Nonsense  Boy.  He  was  very  ill  two 
years  ago,  and  I  used  to  go  to  see  him  and 
tell  him  stories,  and " 

"  Oo-o-o,  can  you  tell  stories  ?  " 

The  Boy  fidgeted  under  her  awestruck 
admiration. 

"Why,  yes, — a — a — little,"  he  said  with 


28  The  Whimsy  Girl 

an  embarrassed  flush.  "  I  thought  you  might 
like  to  have  me  tell  you  some.  Would  you?  " 

"  Oo,  ye-e-s,"  was  the  rapt  answer,  and 
the  Boy's  embarrassment  grew. 

"  I'm  really  not  a  head-liner,"  he  said, 
hurriedly,  "  though  I  have  told  some  listen- 
able  yarns.  I  wonder  why  they  don't  call  a 
teller  of  tales  a  tale-r?  They  ought  to,  don't 
you  think? 


;  Now  as  your  tale-r  will  you  try  me? 
I  keep  my  thread  and  scissors  by  me; 
The  words  that  tell  the  tale  completely 
I  pin  upon  the  pattern  neatly; 
Then  smitch  and  stitch,  and  lo!  I  cut 
A  tale  that's  simply  great — all  but" 


The  Boy  ended  with  a  laugh,  but  the  little 
girl  was  regarding  him  gravely. 

"  You  could  tell  stories  about  awfully 
swell  people,  couldn't  you?  The  people  that 
live  on  Vanna  Savenue  an'  Paciffy  Kites,  an' 
never  eat  anything  but  cake  an'  ice-cream." 

"  Well,   I've   never   observed   that   among 


A  Change  of  Roles  29 

the  people  who  live  on  Van  Ness  Avenue  and 
Pacific  Heights.  But  I'd  rather  tell  you  a 
story  about  something  else.  See  that  ship 
down  there  in  the  Bay,  with  all  the  white 
petticoats  on  it " 

"  You  mean  sails,"  she  interrupted. 
"  She's  a  four-masted  schooner,  and  her  sails 
are  very  white  like — like  the  ones  that  the 
white  bird  followed." 

"  The  white  bird?  "  he  repeated.  "  What 
white  bird?" 

The  little  girl's  eyes  looked  far  beyond 
her  visitor,  out  across  the  spreading  blue  of 
the  Bay's  clear  waters,  into  immeasurable 
stretches;  the  Boy  felt  himself  thrust  aside 
by  the  remoteness  of  her  glance. 

I*  The  white  bird,"  she  said,  slowly,  "  that 
set  out  to  search  the  seas  for  the  child's 
father.  She  was  a  little  sick  child,  and  he 
used  to  hold  her  in  his  arms  when  he 
came  home.  He  was  a  good  father  that 
talked." 


30  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  A  father  that  talked ! "  repeated  the 
Boy.  "  Doesn't  your  father  talk,  Bianca?  " 

"  No,  he  never  talks,"  she  answered,  her 
grave,  luminous  eyes  meeting  his,  but  with 
a  half-absent  gaze.  "  Only  good-bye,  when 
he  goes  away, — but  he's  a  good  father,"  she 
hastily  added.  "  The  old  woman  talks  a 
heap,  but  he  never  does.  This  father,  though, 
could  talk  to  beat  the  cars.  An'  one  night 
he  talked  so  long  an'  so  soft  that  the  child 
fell  asleep  in  his  arms,  an'  he  had  to  put 
her  down  an'  go  off,  for  the  ship  was  waiting 
and  her  sails  were  spread. 

"  And  after  he  was  gone  the  child  woke 
up  and  cried,  because  she  hadn't  kissed  him 
good-bye.  They  told  her  to  be  still,  but  she 
couldn't ;  the  best  she  could  do  was  to  try  to 
cry  without  making  noise,  but  she  used  to 
cry  every  night. 

"  And  one  night  when  the  fire  had  burned 
low,  and  everybody  had  gone  to  bed,  a  white 
bird  came  out  of  the  chimney  and  flew 


A  Change  of  Holes  31 

down  beside  her.  And  he  said,  in  chirpy 
talk: 

"  *  Why  are  you  crying  ?  ' 

"  The  child  told  him  all  about  it,  and  he 
said,  *  Give  me  your  tears.  And  now  give 
me  the  kiss  that  you  had  for  your  father.' 

"  So  the  white  bird  took  the  tears  under 
his  wing  and  he  took  the  kiss  in  his  bill 
and  started  north." 

"North?"  The  Boy  was  listening,  curi- 
ous and  intent. 

"  Sure.  To  the  big  white  world  that's 
in  the  north.  That's  where  the  father's  ship 
had  gone,  beating  against  the  wind;  it  was 
such  a  strong  wind  that  the  white  bird  was 
blown  back  again  and  again,  many  miles  and 
many  days.  His  wings  grew  tired,  and  he 
had  to  stop  very  often  to  rest,  but  he  kept 
the  tears  and  he  kept  the  kiss,  and  after 
every  little  rest  he  flew  on,  always  keeping 
to  the  north. 

"  One  day  he  found  himself  flying  into  a 


32  The  Whimsy  Girl 

whacking  big  storm;  all  the  winds  in  the 
world  seemed  to  be  tangled  up  and  sweeping 
over  the  ocean.  He  couldn't  fly  around  such 
a  big  storm;  he  wouldn't  go  back;  he  had 
to  fly  through  it. 

"  The  winds  beat  him  down,  and  the  rains 
tried  to  drown  him,  and  the  big  waves 
reached  up  to  swallow  him,  but  he  kept  on 
until  he  was  nearly  worn  out.  His  poor  wet 
wings  could  hardly  flap  any  more,  especially 
the  left  one,  where  he  had  tucked  the 
tears." 

The  Boy's  lips  parted  to  ask  a  question, 
but  Bianca  was  not  looking  at  him. 

"  All  suddenly,"  she  went  on,  "  a  rainbow 
came  dancing  out  of  the  sky,  and  the  wind 
and  the  sea  stopped  fighting  and  quieted 
down,  growling  a  little  bit,  but  not  enough 
to  frighten  the  white  bird.  He  drifted  down 
to  rest  on  a  long,  smooth  wave,  and  a  tiny 
silver  fish  hopped  up  to  say  good-morning. 

" '  Good-morning,'    said    the    white    bird, 


A  Change  of  Roles  33 

very  weakly,  for  he  was  tired.  The  little 
fish  noticed  it  in  a  moment,  and  he 
said: 

"  '  What's  the  matter,  White  Bird?  ' 

"The  white  bird  told  him  all  about  it, 
and  how  tired  he  was  and  everything,  and  the 
little  fish  said: 

"  *  Poor  White  Bird !  Let  me  help  you. 
Take  a  blue  thread  from  the  rainbow  and 
string  the  tears  on  it;  then  drop  one  end  to 
me  and  I'll  draw  you  along.' 

"  So  the  white  bird  strung  the  tears  on 
the  rainbow,  and  he  tossed  one  end  to  the 
little  silver  fish,  and  true  enough,  the  fish 
caught  it  in  his  mouth  and  swam  along,  so 
that  the  white  bird  didn't  have  to  flap  his 
poor  tired  wings; — just  held  them  level  and 
sailed  along.  On  they  went  until  they  came 
to  the  great  white  north,  and  there  they 
found  the  father  and  the  ship. 

"  The  storm  had  broken  the  masts  and 
carried  away  the  sails ;  the  snow  and  the  ice 


34  The  WUmsy  Girl 

shut  her  in,  and  no  one  knew  how  to  find 
the  channel  to  sea  again. 

"  The  white  bird  perched  on  the  broken 
mast  and  looked  about.  None  of  the  men 
noticed  him;  they  had  grown  tired  of  wait- 
ing for  help.  Down  in  the  cabin  the  father 
sat  with  his  charts  spread  out  about  him, 
but  he  was  tired  and  had  fallen  asleep.  Very 
softly  the  white  bird  flew  down  to  him  and 
put  the  kiss  on  his  mouth. 

"  He  woke  up  calling  the  child's  name, 
and  opened  his  eyes  just  in  time  to  see  the 
white  bird  dart  out  at  the  doorway.  Then 
he  ran  up  on  deck. 

"  *  Come,'  he  said  to  the  other  men.  *  The 
white  bird  flying  aloft  will  lead  us  to  the 
sea! ' 

"  He  didn't  say  why  he  thought  so,  but 
of  course  that  was  the  magic  of  the  kiss  and 
the  love  in  it. 

"  But  it  was  true.  The  white  bird  was 
still  keeping  hold  of  the  rainbow  chain  of 


A  Change  of  Roles  35 

tears,  and  the  silver  fish  swam  out  to  sea, 
leading  the  ship  to  deep  water.  The  men 
fixed  up  the  rigging,  and  they  had  fair  winds 
all  the  way  as  they  followed  the  white  bird 
home." 

"  But,  Bianca,  how  did  the  white  bird " 

The  Boy's  voice  seemed  to  recall  her  from 
a  great  distance.  She  gave  a  violent  start 
and  looked  up  at  him,  her  face  scarlet. 

"  Jee-rusalem !  I  didn't  mean  to  tell  you 
a  story,"  she  said.  "  I  tell  'em  to  our  own 
kids  an'  the  kids  on  the  hill,  but  I  never 
could  tell  stories  to  you." 

"  Well,  you've  done  it,"  declared  the  Boy, 
"  but  what  I  want  to  know  is " 

"  But  you  were  going  to  tell  me  a  story," 
protested  Bianca. 

"  And  hasn't  he  told  it? "  came  a  big 
voice,  and  Dr.  Burchard  stood  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  Well,  no,  not  exactly,  Dad,"  answered 
the  Boy. 


36  The  Whimsy  Girl 

He  was  still  somewhat  dazed  by  the  turn 
events  had  taken,  and  even  after  the  doctor 
had  finished  his  work  and  had  helped  his  son 
up  to  the  motor-car  the  Boy  was  uncertain 
as  to  just  how  it  had  come  about  that  Bianca 
had  told  the  story  and  not  he.  She  was  a 
queer  little  body,  a  most  puzzling  sprite,  and 
he  wondered  where  she  had  gathered  the  ele- 
ments that  made  up  her  story.  "  Instinct  and 
inheritance  might  explain  her  language ;  some 
of  the  phrases  might  be  but  echoes  of  tales 
told  or  read  to  her;  but  the  lift  of  her  mind, 
the  curious  withdrawal  from  the  material 
details  of  her  surroundings, — these  were  not 
so  easy  to  explain.  Before  reaching  home 
he  had  made  the  doctor  promise  that  he 
should  be  allowed  to  come  again  to  see  this 
little  Whimsy  Girl. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    CROOKED    MOON    SPRITE 

"  SPIKE  McGiNTY,  if  y'  don't  sit  quiet  on 
the  foot  o'  that  bed  y'  can't  stay,"  pro- 
nounced Bianca  from  her  pillowed  throne  of 
authority.  "  An'  if  Johnny  Steinhauer 
wants  t'  stay  he'll  have  t'  sit  on  the  floor — 
an'  if  he  goes  he'll  take  the  baby,"  she  fur- 
ther decreed. 

John  Steinhauer,  a  tow-headed  lad  of 
eleven,  promptly  sidled  down  to  the  floor, 
after  an  apprehensive  glance  at  the  fat 
Steinhauer  baby,  placidly  sleeping  beside 
Bianca  in  her  bed. 

"An*  you  two  Dago  kids — — "  The  two 
little  girls  on  the  side  of  the  bed  looked  up 
with  swift  appeal.  "  Well,  you  can  stay 
where  you  are,"  said  Bianca,  relenting,  "  only 
you  move  a  little  farther,  Giovanna.  Anina 
37 


38  The  Whimsy  Girl 

isn't  as  heavy  as  you  are."  Obediently  they 
shifted,  a  harsh  word  of  protest  from  the 
Italian  Giovanna  swiftly  silenced  by  a  low 
rebuke  from  Anina,  the  soft-voiced  Sicilian 
girl,  who  sat  quietly  knitting  lace. 

Outside  the  languorous  sunshine  shed  its 
mellow  warmth,  and  the  faint  breeze  wafted 
it  into  the  room  in  delicious  waves.  Bianca's 
pet  chicken,  free  to  ramble  in  and  out  of 
the  house  at  will,  picked  at  the  tender  green 
weeds  growing  in  the  chinks  of  the  doorstep, 
and  her  thin  kitten  purred  as  it  lay  cuddled 
at  her  feet.  The  Steinhauer  baby  slept 
serenely,  untroubled  by  the  fact  that  a  new 
baby  had  deposed  him  and  now  ruled  in  the 
home  over  which  he  had  been  king  for  some- 
thing more  than  a  year. 

Bianca's  slim  fingers  were  busily  working 
over  the  buttonholes  of  a  queer  looking  gar- 
ment that  faintly  suggested  having  once  been 
white. 

"  I  wish  some  one  on  this  hill  'd  get   a 


The  Crooked  Moon  Sprite      39 

new  baby  coat,"  she  presently  observed. 
"  Last  time  the  Grassos  had  it,  an*  they 
sewed  the  Italian  flag  to  the  sleeve  for  Do- 
mencino's  christening,  an'  they  didn't  take 
it  off  when  they  washed  it,  an'  now  look 
at  it !  "  Rainbow  streaks  of  blue  and  green 
and  red  trailed  over  its  lengths,  and  the  little 
group  studied  it  silently,  keenly  aware  that 
this  meant  a  grievous  injury  to  the  property 
of  the  community.  "  Now  when  the  Reillys 
had  it,  they  kep'  it  for  nearly  a  year,  an' 
they  didn't  get  it  half  as  stained  up  as  this. 
Why  doesn't  your  Aunt  Lena  buy  a  new  one 
for  the  new  baby,  Johnny  ?  "  But  even  as 
Bianca  asked,  her  thin  cheek  flushed  with 
the  boldness  of  the  idea. 

"  Tante     Lena     she     get     married     soon 

on "  began  Johnny,  and  then  the  derisive 

grin  on  Spike  McGinty's  face  shook  him  out 
of  his  dialect.  "  She's  goin'  to  be  married," 
he  briskly  amended,  "  an'  o'  course  she'll 
have  to  spend  her  money  on  herself." 


40  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  Goin'  to  be  married!"  rejoined  Bianca, 
with  true  feminine  interest  in  this  bit 
of  gossip.  "  Not  to  that  Jew  peddler,  I 
hope." 

"  No,  no ;  she  marry  Fritz  Kleinman,"  in- 
formed Johnny. 

"  Oh,  yes."  Bianca's  flashing  teeth 
showed  in  her  approving  smile.  "  I  know 
him.  He  drives  the  groc'ry  wagon.  He's 
a  dandy  feller.  Often  he  climbs  down  here 
an'  gives  me  a  banana  or  a  lemon.  He's  all 
right." 

"  He's  Dutch,  though,"  put  in  Spike 
McGinty,  disparagingly. 

"Well,  what  about  it?"  hotly  demanded 
Johnny.  "Ain't  Dutch  just  as  good  as 
you?  " 

"  Easy,  kids,"  commanded  Bianca.  "  Y' 
can't  stay  if  y'  don't  be  quiet,"  and  the 
threat  of  battle  dissolved.  "  Anyway,  I  ain't 
sure  that  the  doctor's  boy's  comin'  to-day. 
He  said  he'd  tell  me  some  stories,  an'  then 


The  Crooked  Moon  Sprite      41 

I  didn't  have  sense  enough  to  give  him  a 
chance;  I  did  all  the  talkin'  myself.  An' 
maybe  he  wouldn't  want  to  tell  a  story  to 
so  many  Lids,  even  though  I  did  say  y'  could 
stay." 

"  I  can't  go,"  put  in  Johnny,  "  till  the 
baby  wakes  up." 

"  An'  I'd  like  to  finish  this  scallop  before 
I  go,"  timidly  suggested  Anina. 

"  'N'  I'm  waitin'  f'r  'Nina,"  added  Gio- 
vanna. 

"  Yes,  I  s'pose  you'll  all  stay,"  observed 
Bianca,  with  questionable  cordiality.  "  An' 
of  course  the  room  isn't  very  much  crowded, 
long  's  our  own  kids  stay  out  playin'." 

"  They're  down  by  my  house,"  offered 
Johnny  Steinhauer.  "  We  got  a  whole  box 
abbles." 

"  Apples ! "  exclaimed  Bianca,  with  a 
swift  gasp.  "  A  whole  box !  Oh,  sure  they'll 
stay."  A  flush  came  again  into  her  face,  and 
her  fingers  worked  very  fast. 


42  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  Why  don't  y '  go  get  her  one,  Dutchy  ?  " 
asked  Spike  McGinty,  but  Bianca  shook  her 
head  as  Johnny  slowly  turned  to  have  the 
order  confirmed. 

"  Maybe  the  old  woman  '11  think  of  bringin' 
me  one  herself,"  she  said,  with  a  shade  of 
wistfulness  in  her  tone.  "  An',  anyway, 
Johnny  might  pick  out  the  kind  of  a  one 
that  the  princess  ate,  an'  that  would  get  me 
into  trouble,  sure."  Her  laugh  rang  out 
gaily,  and  her  eyes  danced  with  the  light  of 
a  fanciful  idea. 

"  What  princess?  "  begged  Spike  McGinty, 
hungrily,  and  the  other  children  sat  hushed 
and  waiting. 

"  Well,  she  was  a  princess  that  didn't  have 
any  mother,  not  any  at  all ;  not  even  a  step 
one  to  make  a  bluff  at  being  good  to  her. 
But  she  was  a  princess,  all  right,  an'  she  wore 
satin  dresses  every  day  playing  mud  pies, 
an'  a  long  velvet  one  on  Saturday  when  she 
scrubbed  the  kitchen  floor.  An'  she  had  serv- 


The  Crooked  Moon  Sprite      43 

ants,  an'  nurses,  an'  people  to  read  to  her 
an'  amuse  her,  an'  all  the  fairies  of  the  moon 
were  her  friends,  an'  all  the  fairies  in  the 
king's  garden  played  with  her  an'  loved  her. 
An'  the  king  said  that  twice  her  weight  in 
gold  an'  diamon's  was  not  worth  so  much 
as  an  hour  with  her.  He  loved  her  very 
much,  an'  always  cuddled  her  up  beside  him 
on  his  throne  when  'important  things  were 
happening,  an'  he  took  off  his  crown  an' 
rode  her  on  his  back  when  there  wasn't  any- 
thing 'mportant  doing. 

"  But  one  day  he  had  to  go  away,  an'  he 
was  dreadfully  sorry  because  the  daughter- 
princess  couldn't  go.  So  he  called  the  whole 
bunch  of  palace  people,  servants  an'  messen- 
gers an'  jesters  an'  all,  an'  he  told  them 
that  he  was  going,  an'  that  nothing  was  to 
happen  to  the  princess  while  he  was 
away. 

"  An'  then  he  went  into  the  garden  an'  he 
called  all  the  garden  fairies  an'  he  said: 


44  The  Whimsy  Girl 

'  Guard  her  while  her  father  is  not  here. 
You  know  how  dear  she  is  to  me,  an'  how 
slow  the  hours  will  be  while  I  am  away  from 
her.'  An'  all  the  garden  fairies  cried  an' 
promised.  An'  that  night  he  came  in  an' 
kissed  the  little  princess  good-night  in  her 
bed,  an'  then  he  looked  up  into  the  sky  an' 
he  called :  '  Oh,  fairies  of  the  moon,  I  am  a 
king,  and  many  hearts  and  hands  attend  me, 
but  though  I  am  a  king,  I  beg  you  to  keep 
watch  over  my  little  daughter  while  I  am 
gone.'  An'  the  moon  fairies  came  flying 
down  on  silver  arrows,  an'  they  promised, 
every  one,  he  thought,  an'  he  went  away. 

"  But  there  was  one  old  Crooked  Moon 
Sprite  who  lived  in  a  dark  alleyway  in  the 
moon,  an'  she  was  just  as  horrid  as  the 
others  were  lovely.  She  had  never  liked  the 
king,  an'  she  thought  that  the  princess  had 
no  right  to  live  since  her  mother,  the  queen, 
had  died,  an'  she  was  just  mean  enough  to 
wish  to  make  the  king  unhappy. 


The  Crooked  Moon  Sprite      45 

"  So  she  sneaked  out  of  her  dark  moon 
alleyway,  an'  tumbled  down  the  sky  wrapped 
in  a  raggedy  old  black  cloud,  an'  nobody 
saw  her.  Down  she  came  an'  hid  in  a  big 
tree  in  the  king's  garden." 

"An'  didn't  any  one  spot  her  then?" 
eagerly  demanded  Spike. 

But  Bianca  did  not  hear;  she  was  too  far 
away  in  the  realm  of  fancy ;  too  far  to  hear 
the  uneven  thud  of  a  crutch  on  the  rickety 
walk  or  to  see  the  Boy,  who  glanced  in  at 
the  absorbed  circle  and  hastily  withdrew  so 
that  he  might  not  interrupt  the  tale.  Full 
of  her  story  the  little  girl  swept  on. 

"  The  crows  in  the  big  tree  scolded  most 
awfully  about  her  being  there,  but  she  stayed 
anyway.  An'  in  the  morning  out  came  the 
princess,  happy  as  could  be,  playing  in  the 
sunshine  an'  talking  to  the  garden  fairies. 
She  came  dancing  along,  an'  the  Crooked 
Moon  Sprite  shook  the  big  tree,  making  be- 
lieve that  she  was  a  wind,  an'  tossed  a  cherry 


46  The  Whimsy  Girl 

down  at  the  child's  feet.  The  princess 
laughed  an'  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  but  a  little 
dumb  fairy  was  watching,  an'  he  snatched 
it  up  before  the  princess  could  reach  it.  He 
couldn't  speak  to  tell  her,  but  he  knew  that 
the  cherry  was  magicked  an'  that  it  would 
hurt  her.  The  Crooked  Moon  Sprite  was 
angry,  an'  she  threw  a  plum  at  him  an' 
knocked  him  down.  He  rolled  over  an'  over, 
an'  before  he  could  get  up  that  dreadful 
Crooked  Moon  Sprite  threw  down  an  apple, 
— a  big,  lovely  one,  with  a  red  side  an'  a 
green  side,  an'  the  princess  ran  quickly  an' 
took  a  bite  out  of  the  red  side  of  it. 

"An'  what  do  you  think  happened?  It 
changed  her  into  a  mouse ! 

''  The  poor  little  thing  ran  indoors  squeal- 
ing for  her  nurse,  for  of  course  she  had  no 
princess  voice  any  more.  But  the  nurse 
screamed  an'  got  up  on  a  chair,  an'  the  more 
the  princess  squealed,  the  louder  the  nurse 
yelled. 


The  Crooked  Moon  Sprite      47 

"  A  maid  came  running  in,  an'  the  mouse- 
princess  ran  up  on  her  sleeve,  but  the  maid 
was  frightened,  too,  an'  beat  down  the  mouse 
with  her  hands,  never  dreaming  that  she  was 
beating  her  own  dear  princess. 

"  Then  the  princess  ran  out  into  the  hall, 
an'  the  maid  an'  the  nurse  followed,  calling 
to  the  sweeping  boy,  '  Kill  that  mouse !  Kill 
that  mouse ! '  An'  he  chased  her  with  his 
broom. 

"  She  got  out  of  the  house  an'  into  the 
stable,  but  a  big  cat  sprang  out  to  eat  her, 
an'  she  ran  back  to  the  house  again  an'  went 
into  the  king's  library. 

"  One  of  the  king's  wise  men  was  there 
writing  letters,  an'  the  little  princess  thought 
that  he  would  surely  know  her,  but  when  she 
went  up  to  him  an'  began  to  speak  in  her 
tiny  mouse  voice  he  jumped  an'  threw  the 
poker  at  her.  She  got  out  of  the  way  just 
in  time  an'  ran  up  on  top  of  a  bookcase. 
Then  he  put  his  spectacles  back  on  his  nose 


48  The  Whimsy  Girl 

an'  looked  about;  he  couldn't  see  the  mouse, 
so  he  thought  she  was  gone,  an'  he  sat  down 
to  his  letters  again. 

"  But  pretty  soon  he  was  interrupted. 
There  was  a  great  crying  through  the  house. 
*  Where  is  the  princess  ?  Where  is  the  prin- 
cess? The  princess  is  lost!'  An'  out  in 
the  garden  the  fairies  were  crying :  '  Who 
is  to  tell  the  king?  Oh,  where  is  the  prin- 
cess ? ' 

"  He  went  out  into  the  hall,  and  there 
they  were,  nurses  and  cooks  an'  other  useful 
things,  all  in  a  bunch  an'  crying :  '  Where 
is  the  princess?  ' 

"  An'  while  they  were  crying  an'  search- 
ing, in  walked  the  king." 

"  I'll  bet  there  was  a  rough-house  then !  " 
interjected  Spike. 

"  An'  just  behind  the  king,"  went  on 
Bianca,  ignoring  him,  "  limped  the  little  dumb 
fairy — only  he  wasn't  dumb  any  more.  He 
had  been  around  the  world  to  the  palace 


The  Crooked  Moon  Sprite      49 

of  the  fairy  queen  to  ask  her  to  give  him 
a  tongue  so  that  he  might  save  the  princess, 
and  on  his  way  back  he  had  met  the  king 
and  had  told  him  the  whole  story. 

"  *  The  princess  is  lost,  your  majesty,' 
said  one  of  the  nurses,  an'  the  others 
howled. 

"  *  And  there's  a  mouse  in  the  library, 
your  majesty,  and  I'm  afraid  it  will  nib- 
ble your  majesty's  books,'  said  the  wise 
man. 

"  The  king  pushed  him  aside. 

"  '  Stupid  wise  man ! '  he  said.  *  Don't  you 
know  that  the  mouse  is  our  princess?  ' 

"  He  went  to  the  library  door  and  called : 
*  Little  daughter !  Little  princess  ! ' 

"  The  little  mouse  came  scampering  down 
an'  cuddled  in  his  hand.  '  Look  at  her  eyes,' 
said  the  king.  *  Do  you  suppose  that  any 
mouse  has  eyes  like  hers  ?  ' 

"  An'  they  looked  an'  they  could  see  that 
the  mouse  had  the  eyes  of  the  princess. 


50  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  *  Make  way  there ! '  called  the  king,  an' 
the  dumb  fairy  that  wasn't  dumb  any  more 
came  limping  in,  carrying  the  apple. 

"  '  Here,  Princess  Honey-heart ! '  said  the 
king,  an'  the  tiny  mouse  nibbled  a  bite  out  of 
the  green  side  of  the  apple,  an'  changed  back 
again  into  their  own  dear  princess. 

"  There  was  a  shout  of  joy  from  the 
crowd,  and  the  king  kissed  her  an'  kissed  her. 
But  he  soon  put  on  his  frown  again,  an'  he 
said :  '  Now  to  settle  with  the  Crooked  Moon 
Sprite,'  an'  he  went  out  into  the  garden. 

"  It  wasn't  night  yet,  so  she  couldn't  get 
back  to  her  dark  moon  alleyway,  an'  she  was 
all  curled  up,  hiding  in  her  raggedy  black 
cloud,  but  the  king  found  her.  He  lifted  her 
out  of  the  tree  an'  held  her  up  by  two 
fingers. 

" '  Now,'  he  said,  '  we'll  see  how  you  like 
red  apple.'  An'  though  she  struggled  an' 
cried  an'  tried  to  bite,  he  made  her  swallow 
a  piece  of  the  red  side  of  the  apple,  an'  she 


The  Crooked  Moon  Sprite      51 

turned  into  a  mouse,  scampering  crazily 
about  in  his  hand. 

"  Every  one  thought  it  was  good  enough 
for  her — all  but  the  princess. 

"  «  Oh,  Daddy-King,'  she  said,  «  hold  her ! 
Don't  put  her  down!  The  cats  will  chase 
her  an'  the  maids  will  beat  her,  an'  the  sweep- 
ing boy  will  drive  her  out  with  his  broom ! ' 

"  '  But  she  ought  to  be  punished,'  said  the 
king.  '  She  turned  you  into  a  mouse,  and 
she  ought  to  be  one  for  a  while.' 

"  *  Then  let  her  be  a  white  mouse,'  the 
princess  begged,  *  an'  I'll  keep  her  in  a  cage 
an'  feed  her,  an'  when  she's  very,  very  sorry, 
we'll  let  her  have  a  bite  of  the  green  side 
of  the  apple  an'  turn  back  to  herself  again.' 

"  An'  so  they  did,"  finished  Bianca,  re- 
turning from  the  remote  wilds  of  fancy  and 
smiling  upon  her  audience. 

"  Wow,  but  she  was  easy,"  scoffed  Spike. 

"  She  wasn't  either ! "  warmly  retorted 
Bianca. 


52  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  Of  course  she  wasn't,"  agreed  the  Boy, 
strolling  in. 

Bianca's  cheek  flamed  and  was  pale  again. 

"  When — when  did  you  come  ?  "  she  fal- 
tered. 

"  When  you  had  this  little  bunch  so  hyp- 
notised that  none  of  you  heard  me,"  airily 
rejoined  the  Boy.  "  We  were  all  under 
your  spell.  Going  to  do  any  more  to-day, 
Witchie?  "  He  settled  himself  on  the  side 
of  the  bed,  whence  the  small  girls  had  fled 
at  his  approach.  Spike  McGinty  was  sid- 
ling out  at  the  door,  and  signalling  to  Johnny 
Steinhauer. 

"  I  gotta  wait  for  mine  baby,"  explained 
Johnny,  but  "  mine  baby  "  was  already  sit- 
ting up,  rubbing  his  eyes  with  his  fat 
fists. 

"  I  t'ink  it's  time  for  his  boddle  already," 
muttered  Johnny,  and  hoisted  the  heavy  baby 
to  his  shoulder.  In  a  lusty  yell  the  baby 
expressed  his  resentment  of  the  sudden  shift, 


The  Crooked  Moon  Sprite      53 

and  energetic  cries  came  echoing  back  long 
after  Johnny  had  struggled  up  over  the 
rough  path  and  beyond  the  Boy's  amused 
gaze. 

"  No  wonder  the  kids  on  the  hill  like  to 
loaf  around  here,  you  little  spell-binder," 
said  the  Boy,  leaning  on  his  crutch  as  he 
looked  at  Bianca. 

She  remained  silent  and  painfully  em- 
barrassed, her  eyes  down,  her  fingers  work- 
ing fast. 

"  My  laurels  are  as  the  dried  corn  husks 
of  an  old  tamale  beside  yours, — to  localise 
a  metaphor,"  said  the  Boy. 

"  To — to  paralyse  a  semaphore?  "  echoed 
Bianca,  uncertainly. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  the  Boy,  and  he  laughed. 
"  But  as  a  wandering  bard,  I  thought  I 
might  be  not  without  honour  here.  And  be- 
hold, a  simple  maid  tells  a  tale  that  makes 
my  mightiest  effort —  Where  did  you 

learn  to  tell  stories,  Bianca?  " 


54  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"Why,  I— I— don't  tell  'em  very 
much " 

"  Oh,  come  now,  Scheherezade " 

"  That  ain't  my  name." 

"  No,  but  it's  the  name  of  a  lady  who 
once  told  stories  with  some  success " 

"  Stories !  "  came  the  doctor's  voice  at  the 
door.  "  Isn't  this  story  meeting  yet  ad- 
journed? " 

"  For  the  present,  yes,"  answered  the  Boy. 
"  But  we'll  call  another  very  soon,  won't  we, 
Witchie?" 

Bianca  did  not  answer,  but  she  laid  her 
hand  in  the  clasp  of  the  Boy's  long  fingers 
and  smiled  at  him. 

"  Dad,"  said  the  Boy,  as  they  went  up 
the  slope  from  the  cottage,  "  isn't  there  some 
way  to  get  that  little  girl  out  of  here  when 
you've  made  her  well? — put  her  somewhere 
to  get  an  education, — a  good  one?  " 

"Why,  really,  Boy,  I  don't  know.  Do 
you  suppose  she'd  want  an  education,  or 


The  Crooked  Moon  Sprite      55 

appreciate  it?     She's  a  bright  child,  but 

Of  course  I  haven't  ever  thought  of  it." 

But  the  Boy  had  plunged  into  a  maze  of 
possibilities,  and  he  sat  silent,  thinking  very 
hard,  all  the  way  home. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE    SEA    TYKES 

AGAIN  the  quiet  of  a  warm  spring  afternoon 
enveloped  the  tiny  house  on  the  cliff.  Lan- 
guid with  the  sweetness  of  it,  the  Boy,  a 
formal  caller,  sat  upon  the  only  chair  in 
the  house,  bracing  its  four  uncertain  legs 
against  the  latched-open  door. 

"  It's  a  whacking  good  idea  to  keep  this 
door  open,  Witchie,  isn't  it?"  he  observed, 
looking  out  upon  the  Bay  panorama,  shift- 
ing and  changing  in  new  and  beautiful  com- 
binations before  his  eyes. 

"  Bet  it  is,"  she  replied,  "  but  the  doctor 
had  a  fierce  time  with  the  old  woman  to 
make  her  stop  shutting  it." 

"  They  didn't  keep  it  closed  before  he 
came,  did  they  ?  " 

"  Sure  they  did." 

56 


The  Sea  Tykes  57 

"  A  room  like  this, — with  no  ventilation — 
with  only  one  door  and  no  window " 

"Window?     What's  a  window?" 

"  What's  a  window?  "  The  Boy  looked  at 
her  blankly,  and  then  he  remembered.  The 
child  had  spent  all  her  life  in  this  one  room, 
and  she  had  never  seen  a  window.  But  she 
was  full  of  surprises  like  this ;  many  of  the 
common  things  of  life  were  unknown  to  her, 
and  yet  her  thought  and  experience  some- 
times touched  topics  that  the  Boy  had  not 
encountered.  "  A  window,  Witchie,"  he  ex- 
plained, "  is — is  a  sort  of  frame  filled  in 

with  panes  of  glass "  and  then  the  flash 

of  a  sudden  inspiration  made  his  words 
halt. 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I've  seen  'em  in  books,"  said 
Bianca.  "  Sort  of  a  lot  of  little  picture 
frames  all  stuck  together  in  a  bunch.  I 
forgot  that  people  had  'em  in  houses. 
Haven't  we  got  one  in  our  other  room?  " 

The  Boy  peered  uncertainly  into  the  du- 


58  The  Whimsy  Girl 

bious  shadows  of  the  castle's  other  apart- 
ment, but  he  forbore  to  investigate. 

"  Well,  anyway,"  resumed  Bianca,  "  the 
doctor  wants  the  door  open  an'  he  said  so 
to  my  father,  an'  now  it  stays  open  'most 
all  day.  It's  open  even  when  it  rains,  some- 
times, and  then  I  lie  here  and  look  at  the 
cross  little  waves  fighting  down  in  the  Bay." 

She  laughed  softly  at  the  recollection,  but 
the  Boy  had  gone  back  to  his  flash  of  in- 
spiration and  he  was  mentally  taking  measure 
of  the  southeast  wall  of  the  room  and  esti- 
mating its  possibilities.  The  silence  of  the 
soft  spring  day  was  unbroken  until  a  butter- 
fly hesitated  at  the  door,  hovering  there  on 
wavering  wings.  The  Boy  sat  forward  and 
addressed  it: 


1  Rash  and  foolish  butterfly, 
Pause  not  here,  but  hasten  by; 
Here  a  witch  resides,  and  you 
In  her  cauldron  she  would  stew; 
Or  she'd  cook  you  in  a  pie, 
Reckless,  silly  butterfly !  " 


The  Sea  Tykes  59 

Again  Bianca  laughed.  "  He  won't  be- 
lieve you,"  she  said.  "  He  knows  better. 
Lots  of  butterflies  come  in  here."  And  as 
though  in  proof  of  her  assertion  the  butter- 
fly fluttered  into  the  room.  "  Sometimes 
birds  come.  Once  I  kept  one  for  three  days, 
and  then  he  got  tired  of  living  in  a  paper 
bag,  so  he  ate  his  way  out  and  flew 
off." 

"  But  how  did  you  catch  him  ?  "  asked  the 
Boy. 

"  Like  this."  And  lifting  her  hands  high, 
she  closed  them  over  the  butterfly. 

"  Oh,  Witchie !  "  The  Boy  started  up  in 
protest,  but  the  little  girl  smiled  and  re- 
leased her  prisoner,  unharmed  and  un- 
alarmed. 

"  He  knows  that  I  wouldn't  hurt  him," 
she  said.  "  Now  if  I  happened  to  be  one 
of  the  other  kids " 

"  By  the  way,  Witchie,"  interrupted  the 
Boy,  "  I  don't  often  see  the  other  kids. 


60  The  Whimsy  Girl 

You're  as  much  alone  in  this  house  of 
yours  as — well,  as  Mrs.  Hallowell  is  in 
hers." 

"Mrs.  what?" 

"  Oh,  a  friend  of  mine.  A  very  small  lady 
in  a  very  big  house.  And  you're  a  very  small 
lady  in  a  not  very  big  house.  But  how  does 
it  happen  that  the  others  are  not  here  when 
I  come?  " 

"  You  don't  come  at  grub  times,"  serenely 
explained  Bianca.  "  When  it's  time  to  feed 
'em  you  bet  those  kids  are  Johnny  on  the 
spot.  But  soon  's  they're  not  hungry  they 
get  out  an'  play; — spill  'emselves  all  over 
the  hill.  That's  what  it  is  to  be  husky  an' 
strong;  they're  not  like  me." 

The  Boy  studied  her  with  quick  sympathy, 
but  there  was  no  self-pity  in  the  little  girl's 
face.  A  whimsical  thought  had  hold  of  her, 
and  the  stars  of  the  firmament  of  her  world 
of  fancy  were  sparkling  in  her  eyes. 

"  Would  you  be  spilling  all  over  the  hill, 


The  Sea  Tykes  61 

— playing  with  the  other  kids  if  you  were 
well,  Witchie?  "  he  asked. 

"  Me  ?  Not  much !  "  was  the  quick  reply. 
"  I'd  skid  right  down  the  bluff,  down  through 
Hooligans'  cabbage  garden,  an'  past  the 
places  I  can't  see,  right  down  to  the  wharf, 
to  play  in  the  water  with  the  Sea  Tykes." 

"The  Sea  Tykes?" 

Bianca  laughed. 

"  Oh,  you  don't  know  'em,  but  I've  often 
watched  them  from  here  havin'  fun  down 
there  in  the  Bay.  They  do  the  worst 
things !  " 

"What  are  they  like?" 

"Like — like — well,  they're  just  tykes; — 
thin  ones,  mostly,  though  some  are  fat.  They 
don't  belong  in  the  Bay ;  they  come  in  from 
the  Heads  when  they  can  play  hookey  from 
school." 

"  Oh,  they  go  to  school?  " 

"  Yes."  Bianca's  tone  was  rich  with  en- 
joyment. "  There's  a  fat  walrus  out  by  the 


62  The  Whimsy  Girl 

Seal  Rocks  that  teaches  them,  an'  that  poor 
old  walrus  certainly  does  have  a  hard  time. 
She  used  to  live  up  North,  but  she  thought 
she  was  delicate  because  she  weighed  only 
sixteen  hundred  pounds,  so  she  came  down 
the  coast  for  her  health.  An'  she  feels  so 
sorry  for  the  iceberg  walruses  that  didn't 
come  down  with  her  that  she  spends  most  of 
her  time,  even  when  she's  teaching  the  Sea 
Tykes,  knitting  grey  woollen  petticoats  for 
the  walruses  at  the  North  Pole. 

"  But  every  time  she  gets  'em  pretty  well 
ahead  an'  has  a  good  big  pile  of  'em  tucked 
away  under  the  Seal  Rocks,  the  naughty  Sea 
Tykes  steal  'em,  an'  they  ravel  'em  all  into 
wool  an'  run  into  the  Bay  with  'em.  The 
sea  gulls  help,  an'  they  catch  the  ends  that 
the  Sea  Tykes  throw  up  to  them,  an'  pretty 
soon  the  air  all  over  the  Bay  is  full  of  fine 
grey  wool.  The  sea  gulls  pull  it  with  their 
bills,  an'  the  Sea  Tykes  fray  it  with  their 
long,  thin  fingers,  an'  it's  so  fine  you  can't 


The  Sea  Tykes  63 

get  a  thread  of  it,  but  it  hides  everything, — 
rocks  an'  islan's,  an'  lights,  an'  ferry  boats, 
an'  the  fog  whistles  blow  an'  the  sea  gulls 
scream,  an'  the  Sea  Tykes  laugh,  and  the 
walrus  at  the  Seal  Rocks  gets  so  cross  that 
she  strikes  out  at  everything  with  her  tusks." 
Bianca  lost  her  breath  in  the  haste  of  her 
recital,  but  she  caught  it  again  with  a  laugh- 
ing gasp.  "  Sometimes  she  really  does  dam- 
age," she  resumed,  and  a  shadow  lay  for  a 
moment  on  her  face,  "  for  she  strikes  the. 
boats  that  try  to  get  past  her.  People  don't 
know  what  makes  her  cross ;  maybe  they  don't 
know  that  she's  there  at  all. 

"  An'  then  the  Sea  Tykes  usually  get 
sorry,  an'  anyway  it  makes  them  nervous  to 
hear  the  fog  whistles  blowing,  so  they  get 
out  their  seaweed  brooms  an'  soon  the  Bay 
is  clear  again." 

"  So  that's  the  way  the  much  reviled  fog 
gets  into  our  Bay,  is  it?  "  asked  the  Boy. 

"  Not  always,"  Bianca  explained.  "  That's 


64  The  Whimsy  Girl 

only  the  thick,  grey,  woolly  kind.  But  you 
know  there's  another  kind — thin,  silk  fog,  all 
dampish  in  the  middle.  That  spills  down 
from  the  moon  where  the  Moon  Lady  sits 
an'  strings  beads  on  grey  silk  thread ;  tiny 
little  beads  that  look  like  wet  glass ;  you've 
seen  them?  " 

The  Boy  nodded.  They  were  very  like  wet 
glass  beads,  those  crystal  globules  that  clung 
to  his  coat  on  foggy  mornings. 

"  She  wants  a  dress  all  covered  with  beads 
like  the  one  the  lady  has  in  the  circus  pic- 
ture, an'  she  has  been  stringing  them  for 
years.  But  every  time  she  gets  a  good  start, 
out  marches  the  Moon  Chief " 

"The  what?" 

"  The  Moon  Chief — boss  o'  the  moon,  you 
know.  He's  all  dressed  in  the  silver  stuff 
they  wrap  yeast  cakes  in,  an'  he  has  a  belt 
that  looks  like  the  band  of  a  cigar,  an'  he 
carries  a  banner  that  says  on  it  that  he's  the 
Moon  Chief  an'  that  every  one  must  obey 


The  Sea  Tykes  65 

him.  An'  he  simply  won't  let  the  Moon  Lady 
have  the  dress  of  beads ;  he  always  takes  it 
away  an'  throws  it  down  into  the  water.  The 
poor  Moon  Lady  cries  an'  cries,  an'  that's 
what  makes  the  beads  so  wet. 

"  The  Sea  Tykes  just  love  it  when  the 
silky  wet  fog  comes  down,  an'  they  dash 
about  the  Bay  an'  bump  the  noses  of  little 
boats  together,  an'  they  tangle  the  fisher- 
men's nets,  an'  they  splash  water  on  the 
lights  of  the  big  ships,  trying  to  put  them 
out. 

"  The  bells  keep  ringing  in  the  fog  at  the 
ferry  slips  an'  at  Mile  Rock  an'  the  fort, 
an'  the  walrus  school  teacher  rings  her  bell 
loudest  of  all,  but  the  Sea  Tykes  don't  pay 
any  'tention.  They  just  frolic  around  as 
long  's  they  dare,  an'  then  they  gather  up 
all  the  fog  beads, — millions  of  'em — an'  roll 
'em  into  bundles  under  the  water,  an'  they 
take  them  out  an'  give  'em  to  the  mermaids 
at  the  Farallone  Islands." 


66  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  Then  they're  good  friends  with  the  mer- 
maids," observed  the  Boy. 

"  Pretty  good  friends,  but  Sea  Tykes  can't 
be  very  good,  ever.  No  mermaid  dares  to 
go  to  sleep  while  the  Sea  Tykes  are  out  of 
school;  they  would  tie  her  to  a  rock  with 
seaweed  ropes  or  tangle  her  hair  all  up  or 
do  something  else  to  tease  her.  But  they're 
good  to  the  mermaids  most  of  the  time. 

"  They  do  other  naughty  things,  though. 
Once  in  a  while  some  very  'sclusive  party 
of  fishes  comes  into  the  Bay,  an'  if  that 
old  walrus  school  teacher  isn't  watching  out 
pretty  sharp  the  Sea  Tykes  get  away  again, 
an'  they  dive  down,  an'  each  one  catches  a 
'sclusive  fish  by  its  'sclusive  tail  an'  holds 
it  down  hard  to  the  floor  of  the  Bay.  In- 
stead of  sailing  stylishly  in  the  fish  has  to 
walk,  an'  the  Sea  Tykes'  long  legs  stretch 
up  through  the  water,  an'  the  Sea  Tykes' 
naughty  heels  kick  the  whole  top  of  the  Bay 
into  white  bubbles,  an'  the  people  say :  '  Look 


The  Sea  Tykes  67 

at  the  white  caps.  Must  be  cold  on  the 
water  to-day.' 

"  Out  on  the  beach  they  tease  the  children 
who  go  wading.  They  steal  the  shoes  left 
on  the  sand  an'  run  away  with  them  out  into 
the  water ;  they'll  steal  hats  or  anything,  an' 
think  it  a  big  joke.  An'  it's  heaps  of  fun 
for  them  to  trip  up  a  child  an'  make  her  sit 
down  all  of  a  floppy  sudden  an'  get  wet. 
An'  sometimes  they  gather  up  the  cross, 
hungry  little  crabs  from  under  the  rocks  an' 
set  'em  on  the  beach  to  bite  toes. 

"  But  they  do  worse  things  than  that. 
They  get  out  there  just  at  the  tide  rip, — 
you  can  see  it,  but  I  can't — an'  they  cut  the 
nets  an'  let  the  fish  out,  an'  there's  nothing 
to  sell  when  the  fisherman  comes  in  at  the 
wharf." 

"  But,  Witchie,  how  do  you  know  about 
the  beach  and  the  fort  and — and  all  those 
things?  You've  never  seen  them." 

"  You  don't  have  to  see  things  to  know 


68  The  Whimsy  Girl 

*em,"  she  answered,  easily.  "  The  kids  tell 
me  about  lots  o'  things." 

"  But  the  tide  rip,  and  the  broken 
nets " 

Her  face  grew  sharp  anil  tense,  and  lines 
of  past  anxiety  outlined  its  seriousness. 

"  If  all  the  things  you  had  to  eat  were 
paid  for  with  the  fish  that  come  out  o'  the 
Bay — or  put  on  the  bill  if  the  fish  didn't 
come — you'd  get  to  know  those  things,  too. 
Don't  y'  think  y'  would?  " 

"  Of  course  I  would,"  agreed  the  Boy  in 
quick  concern.  "  And  of  course  you  know 
because  your  father's  a  fisherman.  Did  he 
tell  you  about  the  Sea  Tykes?  " 

"  No.  He  used  to  talk  about  things,  but 
now  there  're  too  many  kids  around,  an* 
they're  noisy.  He  has  to  stay  out  a  good 
deal  on  the  water,  too,  an'  he's  pretty  tired 
when  he  gets  in." 

Her  worried  little  face  distressed  the  Boy, 
and  he  rose  and  came  over  to  her. 


The  Sea  Tykes  69 

"  You'll  have  to  do  the  talking  for  him, 
Witchie.  Suppose  you  tell  him  about  the 
Sea  Tykes.  Let  me  see  if  I  could  draw  one 
for  you;  maybe  I  could  if  you'd  make  some 
suggestions." 

On  the  cover  of  a  pasteboard  box  he  drew 
a  quaint  figure  with  seaweed  legs  and  arms, 
and  a  queer  head  that  might  have  been  made 
of  a  bit  of  floating  coral. 

"  There !  Does  that  look  anything  like 
it  ?  "  he  demanded  of  Bianca,  who  watched 
him  with  eyes  enchanted. 

"  That's  great,"  she  breathed,  intent  on 
the  finishing  strokes.  "  'R'  you  goin'  to  let 
me  keep  him  ?  " 

"  He's  yours,"  said  the  Boy,  "  but  first  let 
me  label  him,"  and  he  wrote  under  the  picture : 

"  Not  very  many  children  like 
The  somewhat  snippy  name  of  tyke; 
But  oh,  suppose  you  had  to  be 
The  kind  of  tyke  that's  in  the  sea? 

Oh,  wow! 

Oh,  whee ! 
The  cold,  damp,  chilly,  splashy  sea! 


70  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"They  never  dare  to  come  ashore, 
Even  to  scan  the  baseball  score; 
They  race  with  sturgeon,  shad  or  pike, 
Or  any  friendly  fish  they  strike; 

And  hike? 

Sure,  Mike! 
But  who  would  be  a  deep  sea  tyke?" 

Bianca  was  crowing  with  delight  over  this 
production  when  the  doctor  came  in  upon 
them,  and  she  flashed  laughing  messages  to 
the  Boy  all  the  time  that  she  was  being  put 
through  her  wearisome  and  painful  routine. 

"Lots  of  pluck,  hasn't  she,  Boy?"  said 
the  doctor  as  they  went  away.  "  She's  as 
game  as  an  old  soldier." 

The  Boy  assented,  but  his  thought  was 
wandering.  "  Funny  little  Whimsy  Girl !  " 
he  said  to  himself,  and  aloud :  "  Dad,  we'll 
have  to  do  something  for  her.  Wonder  if 
Mrs.  Hallowell  wouldn't  help?  I'm  going 
to  ask  her." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE   BOY   PLANS    A   GIFT 

BIANCA  was  not  expecting  the  Boy  when  he 
arrived  next  morning.  He  had  heretofore 
come  in  the  afternoon,  but  it  was  not  more 
than  nine  .o'clock  when  he  reached  the  cot- 
tage, the  weight  of  a  serious  purpose  bend- 
ing his  young  brows,  and  his  merry  whistle 
gathered  into  a  business-like  pucker.  He 
stopped  at  the  soap-box  doorstep,  and  Bi- 
anca's  light  voice  floated  out  to  him. 

"  Can't  you  sit  just  a  little  stiller — 'thout 
wiggling  so  much,  Tonia  ?  "  she  was  coaxing. 

The  Boy  looked  in. 

Tonia,  a  small,  ragged  half-sister,  was 
perched  on  a  box  drawn  close  to  Bianca's 
bed,  and  the  little  patient  was  busily  smooth- 
ing out  the  snarls  in  the  child's  matted  brown 
hair. 

71 


72  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  'T  won't  take  more  than  a  few  minutes, 
Tonia,"  the  Whimsy  Girl  was  saying,  and 
then  she  looked  up  and  caught  sight  of  the 
Boy. 

"  Why,  what — 'tisn't  time  for  the  doctor, 
is  it?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Oh,  no,"  the  Boy  reassured  her.  "  It 
really  isn't  time  for  me — for  my  usual  call, 
I  mean.  But  at  this  moment  I'm  here  on 
a  secret  mission." 

"  I  thought  it  couldn't  be  time  for  the 
doctor,"  remarked  the  child,  "  'nless  the  day 
was  standin'  on  its  head." 

"  Standing  on  its  head !  "  echoed  the  Boy. 
"  That's  a  funny  notion. 

"Suppose  'twere  eight  before  'twas  seven; 
Suppose  'twere  twelve  before  eleven; 
Suppose  'twere  nine  before  'twas  eight, 
Poor  little  one  would  have  to  wait 
Until  the  bunch  had  all  passed  by 
Before  she'd  dare  pipe  up :  '  Here's  I ! '" 

Bianca  laughed,  but  small  Tonia  shrank 


The  Boy  Plans  a  Gift         73 

back  in  scowling,  unfriendly  shyness,  and 
tried  to  escape  from  the  box  where  she  sat, 
a  prisoner. 

"  Now,  Tonia,  you  can't  go,"  protested 
Bianca.  "  Not  till  you  get  these  boat-lash- 
in's  out  o'  your  hair." 

The  Boy  instantly  perceived  and  under- 
stood the  child's  shyness. 

"  I'm  not  going  to  stay,  you  know — that 
is,  not  now,"  he  hurriedly  explained.  "  I'll 
have  to  have  my  secret  mission  well  estab- 
lished before  the  doctor  gets  through  with 
his  hospital  work  and  needs  the  automobile, 
and  that  may  mean  two  or  three  trips  up 
and  down  the  hill.  And  before  I  really  be- 
gin, I  must  consult  the  authorities.  Where's 
your  mother,  Witchie?" 

"  At  Steinhauer's,"  answered  the  little 
girl.  "  She  has  to  go  there  early  to  dress 
the  baby  an' " 

But  the  Boy  was  gone,  making  brisk 
progress  on  his  crutches,  his  eager  step  elo- 


74  The  Whimsy  Girl 

quent  of  his  interest  in  the  business  in  hand. 
Bianca  resumed  her  task. 

"  I  know  you  hate  to  have  your  hair 
combed,  Tonia,"  she  said,  "  but  you'd  rather 
have  it  hurt  a  little  now  than  let  the  Google- 
winks  get  hold  of  it,  wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"Whath  Googlewinkth?"  demanded  the 
child,  fixing  her  solemn  gaze  on  Bianca. 

"  Googlewinks  are — well,  they're  just 
Googlewinks ;  funny  things,  sort  o'  birds  an' 
sort  o'  fairies ;  an'  they're  always  lookin' 
for  tangled-up  hair  to  live  in,"  blandly  ex- 
plained Bianca. 

"  Once  there  was  a  little  girl  who  wouldn't 
have  her  hair  combed;  she  cried  an'  pulled 
away,  an'  did  lots  of  naughty  things,  so 
that  no  one  could  get  the  snarly  snarls  out 
of  her  hair. 

"  But  one  night  the  Googlewinks  came, — 
hundreds  of  'em, — an'  they  took  all  her 
tangled  hair,  an'  they  made  swings  of  it, 
an'  they  twisted  it  into  hammocks,  an'  they 


The  Boy  Plans  a  Gift         75 

spliced  threads  of  it  together  for  skipping 
ropes,  an'  some  of  them  played  Christmas 
tree  an'  they  sqwuzzled  it  all  out  into 
branches  an'  hung  little  dangling  things  on 
it.  An'  all  this  pulling  an'  twisting  an'  tying 
hurt  the  little  girl  a  great  deal  more  than 
just  having  her  hair  combed  nice  an'  smooth 
an'  her  sister's  ribbon  tied  on  it,"  she  fin- 
ished beguilingly. 

"  Moral :  Don't  cater  to  the  Google- 
winks  ! "  pronounced  the  Boy,  standing  smil- 
ing at  the  door,  but  he  retreated  instantly 
in  obedience  to  the  protest  of  Bianca's  lifted 
eyebrows. 

Outside  of  the  house  he  busied  himself 
with  a  two-foot  rule  and  a  pencil  taking 
measurements  along  the  southeast  wall,  the 
business-like  pucker  again  suppressing  his 
whistle.  He  could  hear  Bianca  within,  still 
cajoling  the  reluctant  Tonia. 

"  An'  once,"  she  was  saying,  "  there  was  a 
good  little  girl  an'  she  never  made  any  fuss 


76  The  Whimsy  Girl 

about  having  her  hair  combed.  It  was  al- 
ways soft  an'  shiny  an'  smooth,  an'  the 
Swishy-softs  an'  the  Shiny-ohs  just  loved 
her.  The  Swishy-softs  are  the  breeze  fairies, 
an'  the  Shiny-ohs  are  the  fairies  of  the  sun. 
The  Shiny-ohs  made  her  pretty  hair  all 
goldy  at  the  ends,  an'  the  Swishy-softs 
played  little  tunes  on  it,  blowing  the  hairs 
out  like  the  strings  of  a  harp.  So  the  little 
girl  was  always  happy,  because  her  hair  was 
beautiful  an'  because  everywhere  she  went  she 
heard  lovely  music  playing.  Now  you  run 
along,"  she  finished.  "  The  Googlewinks 
won't  get  you  this  time,  Tonia." 

The  small  girl  scrambled  down  from  her 
box  and  darted  away,  brushing  past  the 
Boy  as  he  came  in  at  the  door. 

"  That's  something  of  a  stunt,"  remarked 
the  Boy,  "  tying  a  kid  up  with  a  story  when 
you  want  to  keep  it  quiet.  You  have  family 
enough  to  give  you  plenty  of  practice,  too, 
haven't  you,  Witchie?  " 


The  Boy  Plans  a  Gift         77 

Bianca's  face  reddened. 

"  Sometimes  I  have  to  tell  'em  stories ;  it's 
the  only  way,"  she  argued.  "  But  the  old 
woman  says  it's  all  lies,  an'  she  wishes  I'd 
quit." 

"  Quit !  "  echoed  the  Boy  in  astonishment. 
"  The  lady  hasn't  much  appreciation  for 
the  force  and  value  of  fiction,  has  she?  " 

"  I  suppose  not,"  agreed  the  little  girl. 
"  But  the  kids  love  it.  Tonia  begs  every 
night  for  the  story  of  the  Cloud  Doll." 

The  Boy  stood  for  a  moment  in  interroga- 
tive silence,  and  she  went  on: 

"It  begins  about  the  Doll  That  Nobody 
Wanted.  Of  course  there  couldn't  really  be 
such  a  doll, — a  doll  that  nobody  would  want, 
but  this  was  only  make-believe.  An'  there 
was  another  doll,  one  that  everybody  wanted, 
only  nobody  could  keep  her  because  she 
wouldn't  stay.  If  you  put  her  in  the  drawer 
she  was  gone  when  you  went  to  get  her,  an* 
if  you  put  her  in  the  bed,  she'd  slip  out  from 


78  The  Whimsy  Girl 

the  covers  an'  hide  somewhere  else;  an'  she 
never  stayed  in  her  box  a  minute.  So  she 
kept  everybody  pretty  busy  just  looking  for 
her,  an*  they  were  always  terribly  excited 
about  her,  an'  couldn't  guess  why  she  was  so 
different.  But  the  reason  was  that  she  was 
a  Cloud  Doll,  an'  Cloud  Dolls  can  do  more 
things  than  some  fairies. 

"  One  night  the  Doll  That  Nobody  Wanted 
was  lying  awake  crying,  an'  the  Cloud  Doll 
lifted  up  her  head  an'  said :  *  Hoo-oo ! ' 

"  The  Doll  That  Nobody  Wanted  was  very 
much  astonished,  an'  she  said :  *  Oh,  is  that 
you?  I  saw  them  putting  you  over  in  the 
drawer.' 

"  '  Well,  I'm  not  there  now,'  said  the  Cloud 
Doll.  *  I'm  on  the  saucepan  shelf.' 

"  An',  sure  enough,  she  was. 

'  How  do  you  get  so  far  away  from 
where  they  put  you?  '  asked  the  Doll  That 
Nobody  Wanted.  '  I  don't  understand.' 

"The  Cloud  Doll  laughed  and  said:  'Of 


The  Boy  Plans  a  Gift         79 

course  you  don't.  But  I'm  going  farther 
away  than  this,  an'  if  you  like  I'll  take  you 
with  me.  You're  not  very  happy  here,  are 
you?' 

"  « No,  I'm  not,*  said  the  Doll  That  No- 
body Wanted.  '  But  where  are  you  going?  ' 

"  *  To  my  home  in  the  clouds,'  answered 
the  Cloud  Doll.  *  Come.  Are  you  ready  to 
start?  ' 

"The  Cloud  Doll  took  the  other  doll's 
hands  an'  they  ran  to  the  door;  then  the 
Cloud  Doll  jumped  up  an'  began  to  splash 
her  legs  about  just  as  if  she  were  swimming, 
an'  the  Doll  That  Nobody  Wanted  did  the 
same  thing,  an'  up  they  went,  up,  up,  up ! 
An'  it  was  true.  The  Cloud  Doll  did  live 
on  a  cloud; — on  the  top  side  of  a  beautiful 
pink  one.  Just  as  they  got  below  it  a  mil- 
lion dolls  poked  their  heads  over  the  edge  to 
see  who  was  coming,  an*  they  shouted :  '  It's 
Prankie ! ' — for  she  was  the  most  mischievous 
of  the  cloud  dolls.  They  came  crowding  to 


80  The  Whimsy  Girl 

meet  her,  an'  they  said:  'Who's  with  you?' 
But  Prankie  only  said :  '  Oh,  a  friend  of 
mine.'  She  didn't  want  to  say :  '  It's  a  doll 
that  nobody  wants,'  because  that  would  hurt 
the  other  doll's  feelings,  an'  besides  it  wasn't 
true  any  more.  As  soon  as  the  other  doll 
stepped  up  on  the  cloud,  everybody  wanted 
her.  They  thought  she  was  darling,  an'  they 
kept  telling  her  so.  They  took  her  to  the 
Doll  Queen's  palace,  an'  to  the  room  where 
they  keep  the  baby  dolls,  an'  into  the  kitchen 
where  the  dolls  cook  an'  wash  the  dishes. 
An'  away  off  at  the  other  end  of  the  cloud 
was  a  tiny  town  where  all  the  tiny  dolls  lived ; 
none  of  them  any  longer  than  that,"  and 
Bianca  measured  off  about  six  inches.  "  It 
was  a  lovely  place ;  the  tiny  dolls  had  tiny 
dogs  as  little  as  a  pickle,  an'  kittens  as  little 
as  a  peanut,  an'  chickens  about  the  size  of 
red  beans.  The  Doll  That  Nobody  Wanted 
was  delighted  with  everything,  an'  all  the 
tiny  dolls  began  to  whisper  together,  an'  one 


The  Boy  Plans  a  Gift          81 

of  them  said :  '  Couldn't  you  stay  here  an' 
take  care  of  us  for  always  ?  ' 

"  She  was  very  much  surprised,  an'  she 
asked  them :  '  Do  the  dolls  really  want  me  ?  ' 
An'  they  all  began  to  shout :  '  Want  you ! 
Why,  everybody  wants  you ! '  An'  so  she 

stayed,  an' An'  I'm  talking  to  you,  an' 

you're  not  supposed  to  be  here  at  all,  are 
you?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not,  Miss  Whimsy,"  replied  the 
Boy,  starting  to  his  feet.  "  I  have  the  royal 
permission  of  your  mother  to  proceed  with 
my  labours,  and  instead,  here  I  am  listening 
to  your  tales." 

"  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

The  Boy  screwed  up  his  eyes  in  a  quizzical 
wink. 

"  I'm  planning  a  present  for  a  captive 
princess,"  he  said.  "  And  what  do  you  think 
I  want  to  give  her?  " 

"  I  don't  know."  Bianca's  reply  was 
breathless  and  eager. 


82  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  I'm  going  to  give  her  a  proprietary  in- 
terest in  the  southeastern  end  of  the  world," 
he  solemnly  confided,  and  rising,  he  again 
surveyed  the  southeast  wall. 

<k  Can't  you  tell  me  what  you're  going  to 
do?  "  she  coaxed. 

"  Yes,  in  a  way,"  he  answered.  "  I'm 
planning  to  put  a  picture  here; — a  moving 
picture.  You've  never  seen  one " 

"  No,  but  I've  heard  of  them.  Can  you 
truly  make  one?  "  she  demanded. 

"  You'd  like  it,  wouldn't  you,  Witchie  ? 
Instead  of  a  blank  wall  facing  your  bed,  you'd 
like  a  picture  that  would  change  every  hour 
of  the  day,  and  even  at  night,  under  favour- 
able conditions,  give  you  visions  of  star-set 
skies  and  melancholy  moonlight?  " 

The  little  girl  was  speechless  with  the  won- 
der of  the  suggestion,  and  the  Boy  laughed 
as  he  swung  across  the  room  on  his  crutches. 
He  stopped  at  the  door  with  a  flash  of  his 
accustomed  nonsense : 


The  Boy  Plans  a  Gift          83 

"  A  wizard  who  is  truly  wizzy 
May  talk  hot  air,  but  he  gets  busy; 
So  now  if  wonders  you  would  see, 
Just  keep  your  weather  eye  on  me." 

He  was  out  at  the  doorway  as  he  spoke, 
hastening  away  beyond  range  of  her  "  weather 
eye."  Twice  he  came  back,  alert,  full  of 
mystery,  stopping  only  to  drop  a  crumb  of 
nonsense  to  her,  and  the  child  was  strained 
and  white  with  puzzled  excitement  when  he 
came  up  the  hill  on  a  third  trip. 

This  time  he  was  not  alone.  Bianca  heard 
him  giving  directions  to  some  one  outside  to 
lift  something  carefully,  to  put  it  down  in 
a  spot  indicated,  and  then  to  wait  a  minute. 
She  was  leaning  up  on  her  pillow,  breath- 
lessly watching  for  him  when  he  came  in,  and 
the  Boy  cried  out  at  sight  of  her. 

"Oh,  Witchie!"  he  said.  "I  shouldn't 
have  tried  to  get  you  on  a  string  like  this ! 
You  little  bunch  of  nerves,  what  am  I  going 
to  do  with  you  ?  " 

He  put  her  back  gently  and  smoothed  her 


84  The  Whimsy  Girl 

pillow  before  taking  his  usual  seat  on  the 
side  of  her  bed. 

"  Now  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  secret,"  he 
said,  speaking  quietly  in  an  effort  to  soothe 
her.  "  I'm  going  to  put  a  window  in  that 
wall  for  you.  I  talked  it  over  with  the  doc- 
tor, and  I  talked  it  at  your  mother  and 
knocked  her  out  with  the  boldness  of  the 
scheme.  Then  I  talked  it  to  three  carpen- 
ters who  said  it  couldn't  be  done,  and  finally 
to  one  amiable,  long-headed  Swede  who  said 
it  could.  He's  outside  now  with  a  helper. 
The  window's  all  made,  and  the  only  thing 
we  have  to  do  is  to  put  it  in.  You'll  enjoy 
seeing  them  cut  out  part  of  your  house  and 
fill  up  the  opening  with  glass,  won't  you, 
Witchie?  " 

Her  thin  little  hand  reached  out  for  his. 

"  Yes, — I'll  enjoy  it — if  you  stay  with 
me,"  she  whispered,  her  eyes  on  the  wall 
where  the  marvel  was  to  be  wrought. 

"  Surely  I'll  stay,"  was  the  Boy's  hearty 


The  Boy  Plans  a  Gift          85 

rejoinder.  "  But  you  know  I  have  to  help — 
as  much  as  I  can,"  he  added,  with  a  rueful 
glance  at  his  crutches. 

He  stepped  to  the  door  and  bade  the 
workmen  begin.  To  the  two  carpenters  it 
was  a  simple  matter — cutting  out  part  of  a 
flimsy  wall  in  a  roughly-built  cabin,  but  to 
Bianca,  watching  wide-eyed,  it  was  a  tre- 
mendous undertaking. 

The  Boy  kept  her  as  quiet  as  possible, 
dropping  down  frequently  to  his  perch  on 
the  side  of  her  bed,  but  when  the  first  board 
was  pulled  out  of  the  wall  and  thrown  down, 
the  little  girl  trembled  so  violently  that  the 
Boy  was  thoroughly  alarmed. 

"  Don't  look,  Witchie,"  he  begged,  slipping 
his  arm  about  her  and  pressing  her  face 
against  his  shoulder.  "  Stay  quiet  just  as 
you  are,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  story." 

But  even  the  promise  of  a  story  could  not 
calm  her  leaping  excitement. 

"  It's  the  same  sky — over  there,"  she  whis- 


86  The  Whimsy  Girl 

pered,  "but  it's  different,  isn't  it?  And — 
oh,  Boy,  what  do  we  smell?  " 

"  Why,  it's  honeysuckle,"  replied  the  Boy, 
vigorously  sniffing  the  fragrance  in  answer 
to  her  long,  trembling  inhalation.  "  A  mo- 
ment, now,  and  you  can  see  it." 

The  opening  was  rapidly  growing,  and 
presently  they  could  see  the  honeysuckle,  a 
scented,  graceful  drapery  over  a  shack  not 
unlike  Bianca's  own.  By  what  miracle  the 
vine  had  grown  so  graciously  the  Boy  could 
not  imagine,  for  the  goats  of  the  hill,  hungry 
nomads  by  day,  usually  devoured  every  scrap 
of  growing  green  within  their  reach. 

"  So  that's  the  way  they  grow,"  Bianca 
breathed, — "  the  little  horns  that  the  fairies 
blow.  Oh,  how  well  I'll  hear  them  now !  " 

"  Have  you  ever  eaten  the  honey  at  the 
end  of  the  horns,  Bianca  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  severely  replied.  "  That's  put 
there  for  the  fairy  who  blows  the  horn. 
You  wouldn't  eat  it,  would  you?  " 


The  Boy  Plans  a  Gift          87 

The  Boy  very  clearly  remembered  having 
stripped  many  a  heavily  laden  branch  of 
honeysuckle  for  the  tiny  bits  of  sweet,  but 
he  forbore  to  answer. 

"  Look  now,  Bianca,"  he  suggested,  and 
together  they  gazed  out  through  the  opening, 
enlarged  to  its  permanent  size.  "  Look,  and 
tell  me  how  you  like  your  new  picture." 

The  little  girl  was  deep  in  the  detail  of 
it,  her  hungry  eyes  drinking  in  its  marvels. 

"  Houses  and  houses  and  houses,"  she  was 
saying,  straining  her  gaze.  "  One  with  a 
cap  on " 

"  That's  an  observation  tower,"  put  in  the 
Boy. 

"  An'  one  trimmed  with  black  lace !  " 

"  With Oh,  that's  a  wrought  iron 

railing  on  the  balcony." 

"  An'  a  lead-pencil  one " 

"That's  a  church,  my  child." 

"  An'  one's  squeezed  in  between  two  others 
an'  all  bent  out " 


88  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  That  bend  happens  to  be  a  bay  window, 
my  dear." 

"  An'  one — look — down  by  the  water !  It 
has  a  clock-box  with  a  cornucopia  on  top !  " 

"  You  mean  the  Ferry  Building  and  the 
ferry  clock,"  explained  the  Boy. 

**  An'  there's  another — oh,  Boy,  how  many 
hundreds  of  houses  there  are  that  are  not 
on  my  hill  at  all ! " 

The  Boy  was  silent.  He  was  thinking 
how  small  a  view  it  was,  after  all;  just  a 
glimpse  down  a  narrow  line  of  vision  on 
the  north  side  of  the  hill.  Of  the  great  city 
beyond,  Bianca  could  have  no  conception. 
But  narrow  though  the  view  was,  it  was  a 
new  universe  to  the  child,  and  she  was  pant- 
ing and  white  from  the  strain  of  her  discov- 
eries when  Dr.  Burchard  arrived.  At  a 
glance  the  doctor  measured  her  nervous  ten- 
sion, and  he  gently  laid  her  down  and  sat 
beside  her,  banishing  the  Boy  with  a  look 
that  was  stern  and  disapproving. 


The  Boy  Plans  a  Gift          89 

The  work  of  fitting  in  the  window  was 
nearly  completed,  and  as  soon  as  the  men 
had  finished  the  doctor  rose  and  covered  up 
the  new  window  with  a  discarded  bed-quilt. 

"  To-morrow,  Bianca,"  he  said,  answering 
the  disappointment  in  her  nervous  little  face. 
"  The  window's  yours,  but  you  can't  have 
it  any  more  this  evening." 

Bianca's  appealing  dark  eyes  turned  to 
the  Boy,  who  had  come  in  after  having  helped 
the  men  finish  the  work,  but  he  recognised 
the  fact  that  he  had  over-estimated  her 
strength  and  had  put  her  under  a  heavy 
strain.  Very  meekly  he  accepted  the  doc- 
tor's unspoken  rebuke,  and  he  slipped  away 
with  only  a  whispered  good-bye. 


CHAPTER  VI 

THROUGH    THE    MAGIC    PANE 

VERY  much  subdued  and  not  at  all  sure  as 
to  how  he  should  find  the  Whimsy  Girl,  the 
Boy  made  his  way  to  her  door  the  next 
afternoon.  There  was  no  sound  from  within, 
and  his  anxiety  deepened,  only  to  fly  away 
on  a  huge  breath  of  relief  as  he  took  the  final 
step  and  looked  in. 

She  was  lying,  relaxed  and  rested,  her  gaze 
on  the  window,  and  in  her  eyes  the  ecstasy 
of  dreams.  The  Boy  stood  looking  at  her, 
touched  to  the  heart  by  the  depth  of  her 
quiet  joy. 

"Do  you  like  it,  Witchie?"  he  gently 
asked. 

"  Like  it !  Oh,  Boy,  I  love  it !  When  you 
said  it  was  going  to  be  a  picture,"  she  went 
on,  "  and  a  moving  one,  I  thought :  *  Won't 
90 


Through  the  Magic  Pane       91 

the  kids  on  the  hill  have  a  dandy  time  with 
it ! '  But  I  wasn't  all  glad,  because  some- 
times I  get  very  tired  of  them;  if  I  really 
had  a  moving  picture  they'd  never  go  home — 
an'  you  know  the  doctor  wouldn't  like  that." 

"I'm  sure  he  wouldn't."  The  Boy  still 
wore  the  chastened  manner  of  one  rebuked. 

"  But  my  window !  "  said  the  little  girl. 
"  So  many  things  happen  there !  This  morn- 
ing I  saw  the  day  come  walking  out  of  the 
sky.  I  never  saw  it  come  before.  It  was 
always  there  when  we  opened  the  door.  But 
this  was  early — early.  I  woke  up  in  the 
night-time — a  grey  sort  of  night-time,  with 
just  one  tired-looking  star  trying  to  keep 
its  eye  open. 

"  Then  a  silver  river  ran  along  the  edge 
of  the  sky,  but  it  melted  away,  an'  a  fan 
of  rainbows  came  an'  spread  colours  all  up 
into  the  grey,  an'  splashed  out  the  sleepy 
star.  An'  then  the  rainbow  fan  changed  to 
cloud  curtains  hanging  before  the  day's  door, 


92  The  Whimsy  Girl 

— red  an'  gold  an'  pale  yellow,  an'  then  white 
an'  pink,  an'  one  by  one  they  fell  down,  an* 
she  came." 

Her  voice  trailed  down  to  a  whisper,  and 
she  lay  breathing  deep,  hushed  by  the  re- 
membered glory  of  her  first  sunrise.  The 
Boy  waited,  in  reverent  silence. 

"  Boy,"  she  said,  presently,  "  God  does 
very  wonderful  things  with  His  sea  and  His 


"  And  His  people,"  the  Boy  added. 

Her  grave,  dark  eyes  looked  up  at  him. 

"  You're  one  of  them,"  she  said. 

"  And  so  are  you,  Witchie."  The  Boy's 
smile  was  very  tender. 

She  drew  a  little  happy  sigh. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  know.  I  used  to 
think  that  God  had  forgotten  all  about  me, 
lying  here  so  long,  but  I  haven't  thought  so 
at  all  since  you  came." 

The  Boy  rose  and  went  to  the  window, 
touched  and  embarrassed. 


Through  the  Magic  Pane       93 

"  Why,  Witchie,"  he  said,  "  I  haven't  be- 
gun to  do  things  for  you  yet.  This  win- 
dow  " 

"  Oh,  the  window !  "  She  caught  the  word 
in  a  crow  of  delight.  "  Everything  passes 
by  it, — dogs  an'  chickens  an'  goats  an'  chil- 
dren,— lots  of  'em  that  never  come  near  my 
door.  An'  it's  so  funny  to  look  at  the  out- 
side of  houses." 

The  Boy  stared,  and  then  he  again  re- 
membered. Bianca  had  never  before  seen 
the  outside  of  any  house,  not  even  her  own. 
Once  more  he  felt  a  surge  of  pity  for  the 
little  shut-away  child,  but  he  carried  it  off 
lightly. 

"  Would  you  like  an  X-ray  attachment  to 
your  window,  Bianca,  so  that  you  could  see 
the  inside  of  houses  through  it?  " 

Bianca  gravely  considered  the  suggestion. 

"  No, — I  don't  care  to  see  the  inside  of 
every  house, — but  I'd  like  to  see  Jimmy 
Reilly  putting  his  turkey  to  bed." 


94  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  He  doesn't  really  put  the  turkey  to  bed, 
does  he?  "  the  Boy  demanded. 

"  Well,  the  bed's  a  roost  in  the  woodshed, 
of  course,"  Bianca  explained.  "  But  Jimmy 
buttons  the  turkey  up  in  a  jacket  an'  ties 
two  strings  to  the  buttons  so  that  the  turkey 
won't  fall  off  the  roost.  Jimmy  raised  it 
from  an  egg,  so  he's  pretty  careful  of  it. 

"  Last  year  he  wanted  a  turkey  for 
Thanksgiving,  an'  the  man  in  the  store  said 
forty  cents  a  pound.  So  Jimmy  sold  bottles 
an'  went  errands  an'  milked  two  goats,  an' 
he  saved  up  forty  cents,  all  by  himself. 
Then  he  went  down  town  to  buy  a  turkey 
for  his  family ; — there's  eleven  of  the  Reillys 
an'  Jimmy  had  only  enough  money  for  a 
one-pound  turkey,  but  he  said  it  would  have 
to  do.  He  just  wanted  to  surprise  his 
mother.  An'  what  do  you  think?  There 
wasn't  a  one-pound  turkey  in  the  whole  town 
of  San  Francisco ! 

"  So  this  year  he's  raising  one.     Some  one 


Through  the  Magic  Pane       95 

gave  him  the  egg,  an'  you  should  have  seen 
that  kid  the  day  he  was  sure  it  was  really  a 
turkey  that  came  out  of  it.  He  went  all  over 
the  hill  telling  everybody.  An'  he's  been  cud- 
dling it  an'  taking  care  of  it,  an'  Mrs.  Reilly 
says :  '  Sure,  I  belave  he  almosht  has  the 
bashte  taught  t'  say  its  prayers  at  noight ! '  " 

The  Boy  laughed  heartily  at  her  accurate 
echo  of  Mrs.  Reilly's  dialect. 

"  Jimmy  just  loves  him,"  went  on  the 
little  girl,  "  an'  that's  why  I  sent  him  a  val- 
entine." 

"  Sent  Jimmy  a  valentine  ?  " 

"No;  the  turkey." 

"  You  wouldn't — even  you  wouldn't  send  a 
valentine  to  a  turkey,  would  you,  Whimsy  ?  " 

"  I  did."  And  her  low  laugh  again  bubbled 
into  a  crow.  "  Some  of  the  kids  had  sent 
me  one: 

"  '  The  rose  is  red, 
The  violet's  blue; 
Sugar  is  sweet 
And  so  are  you.' 


96  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  So  I  pasted  a  picture  on  a  card  an'  I 
wrote: 

" '  The  rose  is  red, 
The  violet's  blue; 
Chickens  grow  fat 
An'  so  must  you ! ' 

"  I  sent  it  to  Turkey  Reilly,  an'  Jimmy 
pasted  it  up  on  the  wall  of  the  woodshed. 
It's  there  yet  if  the  Reilly  goat  hasn't  eaten 
it." 

"  I  daresay  it's  safe  enough,"  chaffed  the 
Boy.  "  Even  a  goat  might  balk  at  an  in- 
digestible poem." 

"  You  don't  know  the  Reilly  goat,"  de- 
clared Bianca.  "  He  ate  two  geography  les- 
sons last  week; — Anina's  an'  Johnny  Stein- 
hauer's, — an'  he  ate  Spike  McGinty's  spell- 
ing, with  only  two  words  wrong  out  o'  fifty. 
Often  he  goes  down  an'  eats  the  morning 
newspaper  off  of  somebody's  doorstep,  an'  I 
guess  he  could  eat  Turkey  Reilly's  valentine 
if  it  wasn't  pasted  up  good  an'  tight." 


Through  the  Magic  Pane       97 

The  Boy  laughed  and  agreed,  but  his 
thoughts  had  taken  another  turn. 

"  Witchie,"  he  said,  "  tell  me  where  you 
learned  to  read  and  to  write." 

The  little  girl  shrank  back  in  blushing 
embarrassment. 

"  I  don't  really — read,  you  know,"  she 
confessed,  "  only  pictures  an' — an'  easy 
words.  I  can  talk  a  lot  of  words  that  I 
can't  read.  I  don't  know  when  I  began  to 
learn,"  she  went  on,  reflectively,  "  but  the 
kids  often  bring  their  home  work  here,  an' 
I  learn  it  with  them.  I  can  write  better  than 
any  of  them;  better  even  than  Spike,"  she 
finished,  her  embarrassment  giving  way  to  a 
glow  of  pardonable  pride. 

"  But  how  did  you  know  about  fairies  ?  " 
pursued  the  Boy. 

Bianca  looked  at  him  with  a  blank  stare. 

"  Know  about  fairies  ? "  she  repeated. 
"  Why, — I've  always  known  about  them ;  I 
— think — I  have."  Her  voice  slowed  up  un- 


98  The  Whimsy  Girl 

certainly.  "  I  don't  remember  when  I  didn't 
know  about  fairies.  Oh,  they've  helped  me 
a  great  deal  when  I've  been  lying  here  alone. 
Once  I  found  a  fairy  in  a  rain-drop  that 
dripped  over  the  door ;  he  was  a  funny  little 
fellow  with  a  red  sweater  an'  a  red  cap ;  he 
just  fitted  nicely  inside  of  the  raindrop, 
holding  on  to  the  door  frame  with  one  tiny 
hand.  So  I  made  him  into  a  story  and  told 
it  to  the  kids  when  they  came  in. 

"  An'  once  when  the  wind  blew  down  the 
chimney  an'  scattered  the  soot  an'  ashes  from 
the  fire,  I  could  see  the  funniest  little  black 
fellows,  each  riding  a  soot  balloon  through 
the  air.  So  I  made  the  story  of  the  Chimney 
Soot  Fairy,  an'  the  kids  are  always  begging 
for  that.  An'  I  know  the  fairies  will  tell 
me  lots  of  things  when  they  go  by  my  win- 
dow. They'll  all  come  crowding  around  it 
as  soon  as  they  know  it's  here." 

"Why,  yes,"  agreed  the  Boy.  "Think 
of  the  fairies  that  must  live  in  that  twisted 


Through  the  Magic  Pane       99 

tree  down  there,  clinging  to  the  edge  of  noth- 
ing on  the  cliff.  Must  be  fairies  there,  don't 
you  think  so,  Witchie  ?  " 

"  Sure  there  are.  That's  the  tree  that 
wasn't  afraid." 

A  question  leaped  to  the  Boy's  tongue,  but 
he  waited. 

"  You  know  the  trees  have  to  be  kind  to 
the  little  winds,"  she  said.  "  They  pet  them 
an'  play  with  them,  an'  help  them  learn  to 
sing;  you'll  always  find  little  winds  where 
there  are  trees.  They  keep  the  leaves 
amused  an*  jolly,  an'  that's  one  of  the 
reasons  why  the  trees  are  so  good  to 
them. 

"  But  the  winds  are  not  always  gentle  when 
they  grow  up.  Some  of  them  are  fierce  an' 
cruel,  an'  they  beat  and  bend  and  break  the 
very  trees  that  were  kindest  to  them  when 
they  were  little.  The  Storm  Father  gets 
very  angry  when  they  do,  and  he  calls  them 
in  an'  ties  them,  but  sometimes  he  is  very 


100  The  Whimsy  Girl 

busy  in  other  places  so  he  doesn't  always 
know  what  they  are  doing. 

"  Once  the  cruel  winds  came  down  and 
attacked  a  lot  of  beautiful  trees  that  grew 
here  on  this  very  hill;  beat  them  an'  tore 
their  branches  an'  trampled  all  the  baby 
leaves  in  the  wet.  They  were  so  dreadfully 
rough  that  the  trees  bent  their  heads  an' 
started  to  run  away. 

"  They  ran  up  the  hill,  an'  at  the  top 
there  was  a  little  house.  They  didn't  know 
it,  but  the  house  belonged  to  the  Storm 
Father,  an'  when  he  saw  them  coming  an' 
heard  them  crying  he  was  very  much  sur- 
prised. But  he  was  angry,  too,  because  he 
thought  that  the  trees  should  have  been  brave 
enough  to  stay  where  they  belonged  no  mat- 
ter what  the  rough  winds  dicl. 

"  The  trees  came  crowding  to  the  door, 
an'  they  cried :  '  Oh,  let  us  in !  Let  us 
in!' 

"  The  Storm  Father  asked  them:  *  Why?  ' 


Through  the  Magic  Pane     101 

"  *  Because  we're  afraid,'  the  trees  an- 
swered. 

"'  Afraid?'     said     the     Storm     Father. 

*  Were  you  not  set  upon  the  hill  to  play 
with  the  little  breezes  and  give  nesting  place 
to  the  birds?     Go  back  to   where  you  be- 
long and  stay  there,  no  matter  what  hap- 
pens.' 

"  One  little  tree — the  one  out  there — went 
back  and  stayed  where  it  belonged,  but  all 
the  others  kept  crying:  'Oh,  let  us  in! 
We're  afraid ! ' 

"  *  Think  again  ! '  said  the  Storm  Father. 

*  Do  you  really  wish  to  come  in  ?  ' 

"  An'   the   trees   cried  louder   than   ever : 

*  Oh,  yes,  yes ;  let  us  in ! ' 

"  The  Storm  Father  opened  the  door  and 
the  trees  crowded  into  the  house.  But  they 
didn't  stand  still  a  moment.  A  big  fire  was 
blazing  on  the  hearth.  The  Storm  Father 
called  to  it,  an'  it  leaped  out  an'  snatched 
up  the  trees  one  by  one  until  they  were  all 


102  The  Whimsy  Girl 

burned  up.  Then  the  Storm  Father  went 
out  and  tied  up  the  big  winds  and  scolded 
them,  and  he  patted  the  little  tree  an' 
straightened  it  up,  but  he's  pretty  rough 
anyway,  so  he  didn't  get  it  very  straight, 
did  he?  But  that's  why  there's  only  one 
tree  on  our  hill." 

"  And  you  found  all  that  out  between  yes- 
terday and  to-day,  you  Witchie- Whimsy !  " 
exclaimed  the  Boy.  He  spoke  in  a  chaffing 
tone,  but  he  was  again  deeply  stirred  at  the 
child's  flight  of  fancy.  "  I  don't  suppose 
there's  a  secret  in  the  universe  that  you 
won't  dig  out,  now  that  you  have  that 
all-revealing  window !  It's  no  wonder  I 
feel  as  though  I'm  Prime  Minister  to  a 
witch !  " 

They  were  silent  a  moment,  and  then  the 
Boy  spoke,  in  a  dreamy,  reminiscent  tone : 


;  Flash  of  wing  and  sway  of  tree, 
Drift  of  cloud  and  lift  of  sea, 
Bear  your  touch  of  witchery. 


Through  the  Magic  Pane     103 

"  Pendant  globes  of  crystal  rain, 
Mists  that  veil  your  window  pane, 
Blend  into  your  elfin  strain. 


"  Witch,  enchantress,  I  must  flee 
From  your  spells  and  sorcery; 
I'm  afraid  you'll  magic  me ! " 

Her  hand  reached  out  for  his. 

"  You  won't,  will  you?  "  she  pleaded. 

"Won't  what?" 

"  Won't— won't  flee." 

The  Boy  laughed.  "  Sure  you  won't  magic 
me  if  I  stay?  "  he  teased. 

"  No,"  she  promised,  seriously.  "  I 
wouldn't  magic  you  even  if  I  could.  You're 
just  the  way  you  ought  to  be — just 
right." 

"  Sensible  Witchie !  You  couldn't  improve 
on  me,  could  you?  "  he  chaffed,  with  a  quiz- 
zical chuckle. 

"  No,  I  couldn't,"  she  persisted.  "  I'd  like 
to  magic  your  crutches,  though.  I'd  make 
'em  into  a  pair  of  stilts,  so  high  that  you 


104  The  Whimsy  Girl 

could  reach  the  sky  an'  play  with  the  twinkly 
stars." 

"  But  suppose  that  the  twinkly  stars 
should  object,  and  prick  my  fingers  with 
their  sharp  points?" 

"  They  wouldn't  do  that,"  asserted  Bianca. 
"  Never, — to  you!  " 

The  Boy  put  his  hands  to  his  head,  sol- 
emnly feeling  its  measurements. 

"  I  think,"  he  pronounced,  gravely,  "  that 
I  can  still  get  my  head  out  at  your  door- 
way, but  if  I  stay  any  longer  I  know  that 
I  shall  never  be  able  to  do  so. 

"  I  told  you  that  you'd  magic  me, 
Although  just  how  I  could  not  see; 
But  if  I  stay,  my  swelling  head 
I  can't  take  with  me  into  bed, 
And  don't  you  think  it  might  feel  sore 
To  be  left  lying  on  the  floor?" 

"  Oh,  but  you're  not  going,  are  you  ?  "  the 
little  girl  demanded  in  quick  concern. 

"  Oh,  but  I  am.     Here  comes  the  doctor, 


Through  the  Magic  Pane     105 

and  I  know  he  won't  let  me  stay  any  longer ; 
he  doesn't  need  me  to  help  him  to-day.  I'll 
hang  around  at  the  top  of  the  hill  until  he's 
through  with  you,  and  majHbe  the  cool  Bay 
breezes  will  undo  your  magic." 

And  with  a  grin  and  a  wave  of  his  hat 
the  Boy  was  gone. 


CHAPTER  VII 

HERALDING   THE    FAIRY    GODMOTHER, 

SLOWLY  Dr.  Burchard's  automobile  made  its 
way  up  the  steep  hill,  and  as  usual  a  crowd 
of  children  accompanied  it,  but  neither  the 
doctor  nor  the  Boy  had  eyes  or  ears  for 
their  retinue.  They  were  nearing  the  climax 
of  a  long  discussion,  and  the  doctor  was  im- 
pressing the  Boy  with  a  few  final  points. 
The  Boy  tried  to  listen  attentively,  but  his 
eagerness  strained  at  its  leash,  and  his  words 
hurried  forth  at  the  doctor's  first  pause. 

"  I  know,  though,  Dad,  that  Mrs.  Hallo- 
well  will  never  let  Bianca  come  back  to  this 
life  after  she  once  has  her.  She'll  keep  her, 
and  send  her  to  school,  and " 

"  Boy,  Boy ! "  protested  the  doctor. 
"  Don't  go  climbing  rainbows !  People  do 
106 


Heralding  the  Fairy  Godmother  107 

not  add  strange  children  to  their  families  in 
so  ill-advised  and  promiscuous  a  fashion. 
Mrs.  Hallowell  agrees  to  take  Bianca  and 
care  for  her  until  I  get  her  over  the  opera- 
tion; that  may  mean  months  of  devotion 
and  hard  work.  Don't  expect  more  than 
that." 

"  But  when  she  knows  Bianca — and  when 
she  sees  how  the  poor  little  thing  has  been 
living " 

"  When  she  sees " 

"  Why,  yes,  Dad.  She's  coming  up  here 
to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  she  is.  Well,  then,  she'll  under- 
stand why  I've  backed  you  in  your  siege 
of  her  castle.  She'll  see  the  impossibility 
of  performing  the  operation  or  of  getting 
the  child  well  by  any  treatment  up  here. 
And  she  knows  how  these  people  are  about 
hospitals.  But  remember — I'm  not  standing 
with  you  in  your  siege  of  her  heart." 

"  No  need  to,"  exulted  the  Boy.     "  When 


108  The  Whimsy  Girl 

she  sees  Bianca — when  she  gets  to  know 
her " 

The  doctor's  face  grew  very  jgrave. 

"  Boy,  you  mustn't  trade  on  Mrs.  Hallo- 
well's  sympathies.  We  know  that  she's  a 
tender-hearted  woman,  and  I  think  we  should 
protect  her  against  the  possibility  of  an 
impulsive  mistake " 

"  There  couldn't  be  any  mistake  in  re- 
gard to  Bianca,  Dad.  She'll  justify  every- 
thing that's  done  for  her.  When  you  get 
her  on  her  feet " 

"  When  I  do,"  put  in  the  doctor. 

"You  will,"  declared  the  Boy.  "Why, 
Dad,  you  can't  fail !  " 

The  doctor  shook  his  head  grimly,  but  his 
deep-set  eyes  were  very  soft. 

"  There's  another  point  we  haven't  taken 
account  of,  Boy,"  he  said,  after  a  moment. 
"What  about  the  child's  people — her 
father?  " 

"  I've  thought  of  that,"  answered  the  Boy, 


Heralding  the  Fairy  Godmother  109 

and  for  a  moment  a  shadow  crossed  his  face. 
"  Of  course  he  may  not  be  willing  to  give 
her  up.  And  it  isn't  in  Bianca's  loyal  heart 
to  forget  him.  The  step-mother  would  be 
glad  to  be  relieved  of  her,  I  think, — poor 
little  Whimsy  Girl! — but  I'm  sure  it's  all 
right !  Perhaps  Bianca  and  her  father 
would  see  more  of  each  other,  would  be  far 
better  chums  living  apart  than  they  are  here 
in  this  crowded  shack."  The  Boy's  words 
were  again  speeding  up  to  a  crescendo  of 
enthusiasm.  "  Mrs.  Hallowell  will  have  him 
down  to  see  her  at  the  Hallowell  place,  and 
Bianca  can  come  up  to  see  him  after  you 
get  her  walking  and " 

"  Slower,  Boy,  slower,"  warned  the  doc- 
tor. "  You  ramble  on  in  this  excited  strain 
and  make  me  doubt  the  wisdom  of  our  whole 
course." 

"  Don't  do  that,  Dad,"  begged  the  Boy. 
"  I'll  slow  up.  I'll  dance  to  your  music 
at  any  tempo  you  set,  most  worthy  Piper," 


110  The  Whimsy  Girl 

and  he  included  the  group  of  clamouring 
children  in  his  amused  glance  about  him. 
"  Here's  our  programme,  then.  You're  to 
interview  the  step-mother;  you'll  find  her  at 
Steinhauer's  now,  and  you'll  explain  that 
Mrs.  Hallowell  is  willing  to  take  Bianca  and 
care  for  her  over  the  operation.  She  is  to 
consult  with  the  father,  and  I'm  to  break  the 
news,  in  my  most  judicious  manner,  to  the 
little  girl.  I'll  be  careful,  Dad ;  I'll  wait  for 
the  right  moment,  and  I  won't  get  excited, 
and  I  won't  even  suggest  that  Mrs.  Hallowell 
may  fall  in  love  with  my  Whimsy  Girl  and 
keep  her  after  she's  well." 

"  If  you  think  you  can  go  ahead  in  a 
safe,  sane  manner " 

"  I  can,  Dad,  and  I  will.  I'll  be  as  placid 
as  the  Steinhauer  baby  and  as  unemotional 
as  Bianca's  horned  toad.  Please  try  to  trust 
me,  and  don't  worry." 

He  was  out  of  the  car  as  soon  as  it 
stopped,  swinging  along  nimbly  and  lightly 


Heralding  the  Fairy  Godmother  111 

on  his  crutches.  The  doctor  alighted  more 
slowly,  looking  after  his  son  with  a  dubious 
eye,  but  the  Boy  was  hastening  on,  uttering 
a  series  of  piercing  Indian  calls  to  announce 
to  Bianca  that  he  was  coming. 

She  was  propped  up,  eagerly  looking  for 
him  when  he  swung  in  at  the  door. 

"  My,  but  you're  a  noisy  kid ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  Sure  I  am.  Why  do  you  suppose  they 
made  me  yell  leader?  Not  because  I'm  an 
expert  in  blowing  *  the  horns  of  elf-land,'  I 
assure  you." 

"'The  horns  of  elf-land'?"  she  re- 
peated. "  Do  you  mean  the  honeysuckle 
horns?" 

"  Maybe  I  do,"  said  the  Boy.  "  I  should 
think  they  might  come  under  that  heading. 
It  must  take  a  good  many  horns  to  supply 
all  the  little  people  in  elf-land.  But  there's 
lots  of  honeysuckle  growing  in  the  world ;  you 
ought  to  see  it  over  the  Hallowells'  big 


112  The  Whimsy  Girl 

arbour."  In  his  eagerness  he  almost  forgot 
his  caution,  but  he  checked  himself  in  time 
and  subdued  his  tone  to  one  of  mys- 
tery. 

"  Witchie,"  he  said,  "  how  would  you  like 
to  live  for  a  while  in  a  big  arbour  three  times 
the  size  of  this  house  of  yours,  with  honey- 
suckle climbing  up  its  tall  sides  and  across 
the  roof  and  down  again " 

"  The  leaves  spreading  out  as  big  as  an 
umbrella,  and  the  honeysuckle  horns  grow- 
ing into  steam  sirens,"  she  finished,  with  mis- 
chievous flippancy. 

The  Boy  stared. 

"  I  mean  that,  Bianca,"  he  asserted. 
"  The  arbour  is  three  times  as  big  as  your 
house,  and " 

"  Oh,  you're  kidding,"  she  chaffed,  and 
again  the  Boy  had  to  laugh,  so  quaint  did 
the  phrase  of  the  street  sound  in  her  charm- 
ing voice. 

"  But  you  don't  know  how  big  the  Hal- 


Heralding  the  Fairy  Godmother  113 

lowell  place  is,"  he  protested,  groping  in 
vain  for  his  tactful  beginning. 

"  I  can  guess,"  she  rejoined,  airily.  "  A 
good  husky  giant  could  take  this  hill  up  on 
a  shovel,  an'  put  it  on  top  o'  that  high  one 
across  the  Bay,  an'  then  pile  two  or  three 
more  on  top  o'  that.  Is  that  how  tall  the 
Hallowell  place  is  ?  "  Her  quaint  humour 
was  making  her  eyes  dance,  and  her  cheeks 
were  very  pink. 

"  Now  you  quit  kidding,"  the  Boy  laugh- 
ingly commanded.  "  You're  positively  dis- 
respectful to-day,  Witchie.  I  didn't  say 
that  the  Hallowell  place  is  tall;  I  said  that 
it's  big." 

"Big  as  the  Bay?" 

"  Oh,  no." 

"  Then  it  can't  be  so  much,"  she  asserted, 
and  her  flashing  smile  curved  roguishly  at 
the  Boy's  bewilderment. 

"  Witchie,"  he  said,  with  a  somewhat  dis- 
comfited laugh,  "  you're  a  most  provoking 


114  The  Whimsy  Girl 

monkey  to-day.  Can't  you  be  serious? 
Here;  I'll  tell  you  a  story  if  you'll  be  quiet 
and  listen. 

"  Once  upon  a  time  there  was  a  great 
magician  who  wandered  over  the  world  look- 
ing for  people  who  were  ailing  or  hurt  or 
crippled  so  that  he  might  make  them  well 
again." 

"  Yes,"  put  in  Bianca,  with  a  slightly 
bored  expression.  "  You  mean  the  patent 
medicine  feller  in  the  wagon  down  at  the 
corner." 

"  I  said  he  was  a  magician,"  severely  ex- 
plained the  Boy. 

"  Well,  so's  this  man.  He  can  put  an 
egg  into  a  handkerchief  an'  take  out  a  duck. 
He  can  put  a  marble  into  a  hat  an'  take  out 
an  orange.  Oh,  he's  a  magician,  all  right. 
The  kids  on  the  hill  all  talk  about  him." 

"  Well,  he  isn't  the  kind  of  a  magician 
I'm  talking  about,"  said  the  Boy,  frankly 
nettled.  "  I'm  talking  about  one  who  really 


Heralding  the  Fairy  Godmother  115 

spent  his  time  doing  things  for  human  be- 
ings. There  are  so  many  people  in  the  world 
who  need  help,  Bianca;  rich  ones  and  poor 
ones.  One  day  in  his  travels  the  magician 
found  a  little  sick  princess  up  on  a,  high 
mountain." 

"  Now  how  could  she  get  up  on  a  high 
mountain  if  she  was  sick? "  challenged 
Bianca,  not  in  the  least  '  subdued  by  the 
Boy's  determined  seriousness. 

Her  entertainer  squirmed  uneasily.  "  I'm 
not  telling  you  how  she  got  there.  The  fact 
is  that  she  was  there,  and  she  couldn't  get 
down  from  the  mountain  because  she  couldn't 
walk." 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Bianca,  her  startled  eyes 
wide. 

"  The  magician  was  anxious  to  cure  her, 
but  he  needed  help,"  went  on  the  Boy,  molli- 
fied by  the  change  in  the  little  girl's  manner. 
"  Most  princesses,  you  know,  have  a  fairy 
godmother  or  two  hanging  around  to  do 


116  The  Whimsy  Girl 

things,  but  this  little  sick  princess  didn't 
seem  to  have  any.  She  must  have  had  one 
originally,  for  she  had  a  gift  that  bore  the 
mark  of  having  been  bestowed  at  her  birth 
by  a  fairy,  but  the  years  had  gone  on,  and 
the  fairy  had  done  very  little  either  for  the 
good  of  the  princess  or  the  care  of  her  gift. 
And  the  magician  was  very  much  in  need 
of  some  one  to  help  him. 

"  So  one  day  he  took  counsel  with  a  cer- 
tain wise  youth,  who  said :  *  Assuredly  what 
she  needs  is  a  fairy  godmother.  I  know  of 
one  and  only  one,  and  I'll  hie  me  off  as 
fast  as  my  crutches  will  let  me  if  you'll 
give  me  the  magic  of  your  endorsement 
and '  " 

The  Whimsy  Girl  was  clutching  at  his 
arm,  her  face  tense  with  excitement,  her  eyes 
fixed  and  bright. 

"  Boy !  "  she  gasped.  "  Do  you  mean 

Oh,  what  do  you  mean?  Is  it  about  the 
doctor — and  you — and  me  ?  " 


Heralding  the  Fairy  Godmother  117 

A  bantering  retort  was  on  his  lips,  but  a 
glance  at  her  strained  ftice  checked  it. 

"  Yes,  it  is,  Witchie,"  he  said,  with  a 
mighty  satisfaction  in  his  voice.  "  You 
know  the  doctor  hasn't  made  the  progress 
in  your  case  that  he  had  hoped  to  make,  and 
the  reason  is  that  there  are  too  many  things 
against  him  and  against  you,  while  you  are 
here.  The  doctor  is  really  a  magician,  and 
he  really  could  make  you  well  and  make  you 
walk  if  he  had  conditions  anywhere  near 
right.  They  call  his  magic  work  an  opera- 
tion, but  you'll  be  game  and  stand  it  if  he 
plans  it,  won't  you,  Witchie?" 

"  Sure  I'll  be  game,"  she  answered,  with 
whitening  lips. 

"  You  see,"  went  on  the  Boy,  "  it  isn't 
possible  to  perform  that  operation  without 
having  expert  help  at  hand.  Your  people 
are  afraid  of  a  hospital,  and  wouldn't  allow 
the  doctor  to  take  you  to  one,  and  right 
here  is  where  the  fairy  godmother  comes  in." 


118  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"The  fairy  godmother?"  repeated  the 
little  girl,  vaguely. 

"Yes,  your  fairy  godmother.  Her  name 
is  Mrs.  Hallowell — you've  heard  me  tell 
things  about  her  before.  Her  boy,  Donald, 
was  ill  for  years, — same  sort  of  a  case  that 
yours  is, — and  Dad  got  him  over  it.  You 
ought  to  see  him  now ;  liveliest  little  sport 
in  his  school,  and  a  dandy  fellow.  Mrs.  Hal- 
lowell knows  all  about  the  treatment  that 
your  case  will  require,  so  she's  going  to  invite 
you  to  stay  with  her  until  the  doctor  gets 
you  over  the  operation.  She's  coming  up 
here  to-morrow  to  see  you  and  to  talk  to 
you  about  the  arrangements." 

"  Coming  here  ?  A  fairy  godmother  com- 
ing here?  " 

The  Boy  laughed,  a  soft,  triumphant  note. 
"  Coming  here  to  see  you.  Oh,  you'll  think 
she's  really  a  fairy  godmother,  she's  such  a 
pretty  dainty  lady.  She  makes  you  believe 
in  fairies  just  as  soon  as  you  look  at  her." 


Heralding  the  Fairy  Godmother  119 

"  Aw,  Boy,"  broke  in  Bianca  with  a  sob, 
"  what  do  you  suppose  a  lady  fairy  like  that 
would  do  for  a  kid  like  me  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  just  what  she  will  do,"  the 
Boy  promptly  answered,  his  face  glowing. 
"  She'll  come  here  and  talk  to  you  in  a  voice 
that  loves  you,  and  she'll  laugh  at  you  a 
little  bit,  and  scold  you  a  little  bit,  and 
cuddle  you  a  little  bit,  until  she  makes 
you  feel  that  you've  always  had  a  fairy 
godmother;  that  you've  known  her  for- 
ever. 

"  And  then  she'll  go  home  and  have  her 
big  arbour  made  ready  for  you,  and  Dad 
and  I  will  take  you  there  in  the  machine; 
it's  a  lovely  ride  down  the  peninsula,  and 
you'll  see  all  San  Francisco  as  you  go.  It's 
just  the  time  of  year  to  start  your  treat- 
ment; it's  April — the  seventeenth,  isn't  it? 
And  after  the  first  little  while  you'll  enjoy 
the  summer  in  the  garden,  for  of  course  part 
of  the  treatment  is  to  keep  you  in  the  open 


120  The  Whimsy  Girl 

air  as  much  as  possible.  Your  fairy  god- 
mother will  be  with  you  part  of  every  day; 
she'll  talk  to  you  and  read  you  stories  and 
pet  you  and  let  you  have  your  own  way 
while  the  nurse  is  resting,  and  she'll  sit  be- 
side you  and  sing  you  funny  songs  when 
the  nurse  is  there  to  make  you  mind.  And 

all  around  you  in  the  beautiful  garden " 

"  Oh,  Boy,  Boy !  "  The  words  came  in 
an  exhausted  gasp,  and  the  little  girl  lay 
back  on  her  pillow.  Her  eyelids  closed,  but 
they  could  not  hold  back  the  stream  of 
tears  that  flowed  over  her  white  cheeks. 
"  You'd  better  cut  all  that  out,"  she  said, 
brokenly.  "  It's  a  fairy  tale.  I  couldn't 
go.  The  old  woman  needs  me ;  the  kids  can't 
comb  their  own  hair  yet ;  an'  who'd  take  care 
o'  the  Steinhauer  baby,  the  old  one,  that 
sleeps  here  in  the  afternoons?  An'  I  prom- 
ised to  sew  the  lace  on  Mamie  Reilly's  con- 
firmation veil  when  she  gets  it.  The  kids  on 
the  hill  'd  miss  me  something  fierce  if  I  went 


Heralding  the  Fairy  Godmother  121 

away.  An'  my  father "  She  choked  on 

the  word. 

The  Boy  looked  down  at  her  in  silence 
for  a  moment. 

"  I  think — for  your  father's  sake  you'd 
better  take  the  chance,  Bianca,"  he  gravely 
advised.  "  Think  of  being  a  strong,  happy 
little  girl,  running  to  meet  him  when  he  comes 
home!  I  did  hope — that  maybe  Mrs.  Hal- 

lowell  might — after  you  were  well But 

you  belong  to  your  father,  Witchie,  whatever 
comes."  The  Boy  turned  away  from  her  to 
face  the  truth  of  his  words.  No  worldly 
advantage  could  pay  for  severing  the  bond 
between  this  child  and  her  father.  His  air 
castle  floated  away  on  a  breath,  and  he 
turned  back  to  her.  "  When  does  he  come 
in,  Bianca?  " 

"  To-morrow,  some  time,"  she  answered. 
"  All  the  fishing  boats  stay  out  three  days 
now." 

"  We'll  see  him  about  it  to-morrow,  then. 


122  The  Whimsy  Girl 

What  a  reception  you'll  have,  O  Princess  of 
the  Hilltop !  A  fairy  godmother,  a  magician, 
a  wise  youth,  and  no  doubt  sundry  cavaliers 
and  courtiers  about  your  castle ! "  His 
spirits  rose  with  his  gay  words,  but  he  bent 
down  and  smoothed  the  pillow  and  covers 
about  the  little  girl.  "  I'm  going  now, 
Witchie,"  he  said.  "  Lie  quiet,  so  that  you'll 
be  rested  and  not  nervous  when  the  doctor 
comes.  To-morrow  will  be  a  big  day  for  all 
of  us."  He  straightened  up  and  waved  his 
cap  aloft.  "  Hail,  To-morrow !  I  salute 
thee ! " 

Long  afterwards  the  idle  speech  came  back 
to  him,  twisted  by  fate  into  a  new  signifi- 
cance. For  "  to-morrow  "  was  destined  to 
write  its  record  in  fire  and  terror  into  the 
history  of  the  city. 


CHAPTER  VHI 

EARTHQUAKE   AND    FIRE 

THE  Whimsy  Girl  had  passed  a  restless 
night.  Excitement  over  the  plan  outlined 
by  the  Boy  and  more  fully  explained  by  the 
doctor,  dismay  at  her  step-mother's  criti- 
cism and  querulous  unbelief  in  the  doctor  and 
his  methods,  and  longing  for  her  father  out 
on  the  Bay  kept  her  awake  through  the  hours 
while  the  stars  glowed  in  the  soft,  spring 
sky.  Dawn  came  in  at  the  window — a  dawn 
of  rose  and  gold,  and  the  sun  shot  long 
shafts  of  light  up  the  hill  before  the  tired 
little  girl  slept. 

She  was  abruptly  awakened,  with  a  sen- 
sation that  some  monster  had  hold  of  her 
and  was  shaking  her,-1— shaking  her  with  vio- 
lence and  malice.     She  started  up,  but  her 
123 


124  The  Whimsy  Girl 

faint  note  of  protest  was  drowned  in  many- 
keyed  cries  of  alarm,  for  the  house  was  rock- 
ing wildly,  and  its  inmates  were  being  flung 
about  in  terrifying  confusion. 

There  was  an  almost  imperceptible  pause, 
and  then  a  more  violent  shake  sent  the  bricks 
of  the  chimney  crashing  through  the  flimsy 
roof,  and  filled  the  air  with  sounds  of  many 
objects  breaking,  while  the  malignant  force 
wrenched  at  the  foundations  of  the  little 
house  and  left  it  trembling  and  insecure. 
Bianca  heard  a  hoarse  cry,  half  prayer,  half 
curse,  from  her  step-mother,  and  with  it  the 
frightened  shrieking  of  the  children. 

The  shaking  ceased,  and  there  was  a 
strange  moment  of  quiet,  as  though  the  world 
held  its  breath,  waiting.  The  moment 
passed,  and  from  all  sides  Bianca  heard  a 
babble  of  excited  voices ;  the  hill  was  awake, 
and  the  people  were  hurrying  out  of  their 
houses  in  questioning  fear,  in  panic,  in  dread 
of  what  might  follow. 


Earthquake  and  Fire         125 

One  of  the  children  flung  wide  the  door, 
and  Bianca  drew  her  first  breath  of  relief 
at  sight  of  the  early  morning  sky  and  the 
carefree  sunlight  spreading  its  golden  wealth 
upon  the  cottage  floor.  Nothing  could  be 
very  wrong  in  a  world  under  that  serene  sky, 
she  thought,  but  she  did  not  know  that  she 
had  lived  through  the  heaviest  earthquake 
in  the  country's  history.  The  step-mother 
was  the  only  member  of  the  family  who  had 
any  conception  of  the  seriousness  of  the 
event,  and  dumb  with  fright  she  was  hurry- 
ing the  little  ones  into  their  clothing  and 
urging  them  out  of  the  house.  But  once 
they  were  out  of  her  sight  she  followed 
them  in  new  panic,  obeying  the  instinct  to 
cling  close  to  her  own  in  the  hour  of  dis- 
aster. 

A  high-pitched  whistle  pierced  the  blur  of 
troubled  sounds  from  without,  and  Spike 
McGinty  flattened  his  nose  against  Bianca's 
window. 


126  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  Wasn't  that  a  corker?  "  he  gleefully  de- 
manded. "  Ain't  a  chim'ley  on  the  hill  left 
standin'.  C'n  I  come  in?  " 

He  followed  his  question  at  Bianca's  nod, 
and  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  her  bed. 

"  Y'ought  ter  see  our  front  room,"  he 
chortled.  "  Everythin'  all  mixed  up ; — 
pi'chers,  an'  rockin'  chairs,  an'  the  'Lives  o' 
the  Saints,'  an'  winder  glass,  an'  bricks  an' 
ashes,  all  mixed  up  in  the  middle  o'  the  floor. 
All  our  dishes  V  smashed,  an'  the  clock  an' 
everythin'.  You're  some  mixed  up  yerself, 
here,"  he  added.  "  Want  me  ter  push  yer 
bed  back?" 

For  the  first  time  Bianca  observed  that 
her  bed  had  been  thrust  out  from  the  wall, 
and  she  looked  about  at  the  amazing  litter 
scattered  by  the  earthquake  all  over  the 
room. 

"  Good  thing  the  old  quake  did  give  yer 
bed  a  shove,"  remarked  Spike,  rising  to  in- 
vestigate. "  Jus'  look  where  these  bricks 


Earthquake  and  Fire         127 

fell ;  one  o'  them  would  've  hit  you  sure  if 
yer  bed  hadn't  moved." 

It  was  true.  The  scattered  brick  from 
the  chimney  filled  the  corner  where  Bianca's 
bed  had  stood. 

"  An'  oo,  jiminy !  Look  at  OP  Man  Hub- 
bard's  !  "  Spike  shouted  from  the  doorway, 
whither  his  restless  feet  had  taken  him. 
"  Roof  all  caved  in !  An'  Grasso's  house  is 
skewjeed  an'  tippin'  halfway  down  the  hill! 

An' Wow !  Whee !  Casey's  house  is 

afire !  " 

With  a  wild  shriek  of  excitement  Spike 
dashed  off  down  the  hill,  and  Bianca  was  left 
alone,  trembling  and  shaken,  wondering  what 
all  of  this  might  mean.  Twice  as  she  waited 
the  earth  quivered  with  minor  shocks,  and 
her  dwelling  parted  with  loosened  bits  of 
its  material,  before  Spike  came  back  again, 
full  of  fantastic  reports. 

"  Casey's  house  an'  Higginses'  an'  Cami- 
netti's  are  all  gone, — burnt  right  up;  OP 


128  The  Whimsy  Girl 

Man  Hubbard's  caught  fire,  too,  but  they  put 
it  out  with  Grasso's  barrel  of  claret.  An' 
they  dragged  the  ol'  man  out  just  in  time. 
An'  all  of  the  Grasso  kids  had  to  be  dug  out 
o'  the  cellar ;  the  whole  floor  went  down  ker- 
plunk. A  lot  o'  men  an'  the  p'liceman  ripped 
away  the  boards  an'  got  all  the  kids  out. 
The  Geary  house  was  just  catchin'  when  I 
left  an'  ran  up  here  to  tell  you.  That  '11 
burn,  too,  an'  I'm  goin'  back  ter  see 
it!" 

"  Why  doesn't  the  fire  engine  come  an' 
put  it  out  ?  "  demanded  Bianca. 
"  Dunno;  but  it  ain't  on  the  job." 
Spike  had  not  been  told  that  the  earth- 
quake had  wrenched  the  water  mains,  cutting 
off  the  supply  of  water  from  the  city;  that 
the  electric  wires  were  snapped  and  twisted 
into  uselessness;  that  the  disaster  had  laid 
a  paralysing  hand  upon  all  of  the  city's 
utilities.  But  the  little  girl  sensed  something 
of  the  appalling  scope  of  the  calamity,  and 


Earthquake  and  Fire         129 

her  face  whitened,  so  that  Spike  observed  it, 
even  at  the  floodtide  of  his  excitement. 

"  Are  y'  frightened,  kid  ?  "  he  asked,  solici- 
tously. "  Want  me  ter  stay  with  yer  ?  " 

"  No ;  oh,  no,  Spike,"  she  answered,  recov- 
ering herself.  "  I  wouldn't  have  you  miss  it 
for  anything.  Run  on,  an*  see  what  else  is 
happening." 

"  All  right,"  assented  Spike,  hilariously. 
"  There's  a  grouchy  Dago  bunch  livin'  next 
t'  the  Gearys'.  Y'  won't  catch  them  spillin' 
their  claret  t'  put  out  the  fires." 

A  wiser  brain  than  the  boy's  could  not 
have  prophesied  the  spirit  of  brotherhood 
that  was  to  rise  out  of  the  ruin  of  the  city ; 
the  spirit  that  throttled  selfishness  and  made 
all  men  glad  to  share  whatever  they  might 
have  of  resource  or  comfort  or  good 
cheer. 

The  boy  was  off,  and  Bianca  settled  to 
another  period  of  waiting,  only  to  start  up 
again  at  the  sound  of  two  voices,  the  one 


130  The  Whimsy  Girl 

harsh  and  broken,  the  other  sharp  with  un- 
usual excitement. 

"  Anina  and  Giovanna,"  she  identified 
them,  and  the  two  little  girls  ran  into  the 
room. 

"  Here !  Here !  See  what  we  got !  " 
shrilled  Anina. 

"  Bunches  of  it !  "  supplemented  Giovanna, 
and  they  dumped  a  load  of  corner  grocery 
candy  on  Bianca's  bed.  "  The  groc'ryman 
said  take  all  we  wanted ;  the  town's  gone,  he 
said,  an'  he's  movin'  his  whole  family  across 
the  Bay.  Left  the  store  wide  open,  an'  says 
he  don't  care  who  gets  the  stuff." 

"  An'  we're  goin'  back  ter  get  a  lot  more," 
cried  Anina,  and  sped  to  the  doorway,  fol- 
lowed by  Giovanna,  leaving  the  assortment 
of  cheap  sweets  in  a  tumbled  heap  on 
Bianca's  bed. 

The  little  girl  barely  looked  at  the  gor- 
geously wrapped  candies.  There  was  a  change 
in  the  sound  of  the  neighbourhood  clamour, 


Earthquake  and  Fire         131 

and  she  strained  her  ears  to  the  new  note. 
There  had  been  several  milder  earthquake 
shocks  since  the  first  great  one,  and  at  every 
tremor  the  little  house  shook  and  strained, 
or  a  dislodged  brick  or  loosened  board  fell 
with  a  crash.  What  could  it  be,  this  spirit 
of  terror  intruding  so  strangely  into  the 
sweet  spring  day?  The  sunlight  was  golden, 
the  sky  above  her  doorway  was  blue — was — 
blue  no  longer.  A  dull  blur  had  come  over 
it,  and  Bianca's  swift  gaze  sought  the  win- 
dow. Dense  clouds  of  black  smoke  were 
rising  beyond  the  group  of  houses  that 
Bianca  knew,  and  even  as  she  watched  the 
mass  of  smoke  went  higher,  urged  by  long 
whips  of  leaping  flame.  The  big  downtown 
fires  had  made  headway;  the  work  of  the 
city's  destruction  was  on. 

The  fire  flamed  more  fiercely  as  it  swept 
ahead,  and  Bianca  crouched  low  under  her 
covers,  trembling,  terror-stricken,  and  long- 
ing for  some  one,  any  one,  to  come  to  her. 


132  The  Whimsy  Girl 

She  did  not  look  up  again  until  a  step 
on  the  walk  roused  her.  She  caught  her 
breath,  waiting,  hoping  that  it  might  be 
Spike,  with  his  cheery  enjoyment  of  the  day's 
big  event.  She  saw  the  boy's  form  dart  past 
the  window,  but  it  was  not  Spike.  It  was 
Johnny  Steinhauer  with  the  Steinhauer  baby, 
and  Bianca  looked  at  the  boy  and  learned 
what  fear  can  do  to  a  human  face.  His  lips 
were  white,  his  eyes  set  and  staring,  and  he 
was  past  speech.  An  inarticulate  word  was 
all  that  he  uttered  as  he  set  the  baby  down 
beside  Bianca  and  ran  out  again,  terror- 
stricken,  terror-driven. 

His  brief  visit  only  increased  the  little 
girl's  alarm.  Even  the  usually  uncomplain- 
ing baby  put  in  a  cry  of  protest  against 
the  disturbed  order  of  things,  but  the  touch 
of  Bianca's  gentle  hand  soothed  him,  and  he 
settled  down  in  his  familiar  resting-place  and 
vigorously  chewed  on  a  beguiling  stick  of  the 
grocery  candy. 


Earthquake  and  Fire         133 

There  was  another  long  interval  of  wait- 
ing and  listening.  The  Steinhauer  baby  fell 
asleep,  as  was  his  habit,  and  he  lay  breath- 
ing peacefully.  The  roar  of  the  great  fires 
rose  above  the  sounds  from  the  street,  until 
Bianca  heard  a  new  clamour,  and  out  of  it 
she  caught  a  long-toned  command: 

"  Out  of  the  houses !    Everybody  out !  " 

The  authority  in  the  voice  awed  Bianca, 
though  she  could  not  know  that  she  was  lis- 
tening to  an  order  from  army  headquarters. 
The  Federal  troops  had  taken  charge  of  the 
city,  and  General  Funston's  men  had  begun 
the  work  of  driving  people  beyond  reach  of 
the  fire. 

There  were  cries  and  replies  to  the  order; 
protests,  entreaties ;  and  Bianca  recognised 
her  step-mother's  voice,  high-pitched  in  al- 
tercation with  the  voice  of  authority.  The 
warring  sounds  came  nearer,  and  Bianca's 
heart  leaped ;  her  step-mother  was  coming  to 
her  at  last.  She  was  just  above  the  house, 


134  The  Whimsy  Girl 

pleading,  expostulating  in  her  broken  Eng- 
lish, but  the  man's  harsh  voice  stopped 
her. 

"  Get  along,  now,  I  tell  you !  Everybody 
out,  the  order  says,  and  you  can't  go  back 
into  your  house.  Get  along,  I  tell  you !  " 

Four  frightened  little  voices  rose  in  wail- 
ing cries  above  the  angry  tones  of  the  sol- 
dier, and  Bianca  heard  Tonia  call :  "  Oh, 
mamma,  come,  come !  " 

"  Go  on !  "  roughly  commanded  the  sol- 
dier, and  a  despairing  sob  floated  back  as  the 
panic-stricken  woman  hurried  to  the  fright- 
ened babies  crying  for  her. 

The  soldier  came  down  the  crazy  walk,  and 
Bianca  huddled  close  to  her  pillow,  drawing 
the  covers  up  over  herself  and  the  baby. 

"  Everybody  out !  All  out !  "  sounded  the 
monotonous  chant.  The  soldier  paused  at 
the  door,  glanced  in,  and  believing  the  place 
deserted,  went  on. 

The  little  girl  did  not  dare  raise  her  head 


Earthquake  and  Fire         135 

until  several  minutes  after  he  had  gone.  The 
sound  of  his  call  softened  in  the  distance, 
blended  into  the  general  tumult,  and  Bianca 
ventured  to  peer  out.  Again  she  heard  an 
approaching  step.  But  it  was  not  the  sol- 
dier. It  was  Jimmy  Reilly,  who  stood  at 
the  doorway  for  one  uncertain  moment,  his 
turkey  held  close  in  his  arms. 

"  'R'  y'  there,  Bianca  ?  "  he  asked,  in  a 
guarded  whisper.  "  Thought  y'  couldn't  git 
away.  Soldier  didn't  see  you,  did  he? 
They're  makin'  everybody  git  out.  We're 
goin'  down  North  Beach  way,  an'  we'll  try 
to  git  to  the  ferry  an'  go  across  the  Bay. 
The  troops  f'm  the  Presidio  V  here,  an' 
they're  callin'  others  in.  Y'  didn't  see  that 
soldier,  did  yer  ?  " 

"  No,"  breathed  Bianca. 

"  Yer  old  woman  had  a  fierce  time  with 
him;  he  wouldn't  let  her  git  down  to  you. 
She's  gone  t'  the  wharf  t'  wait  fer  the  boats 
t*  come  in.  Yer  father  '11  come  an'  git  yer 


136  The  Whimsy  Girl 

after  a  while,  an'  you'll  be  all  right,  won't 
yer?" 

"  Yes ;  oh,  I'm  all  right,  Jimmy.  Is  it  a 
big  fire?" 

"  It's  all  fire — wherever  y'  look.  People 
say  the  whole  city  '11  go.  There  isn't  any 
water." 

Into  her  pause  of  dismay  came  the  voice 
of  the  soldier  returning. 

"  Go  on,  Jimmy,*'  she  whispered,  putting 
her  head  down  again. 

"  But  I  don't  like  to  leave  you "  he 

began  unsteadily. 

"  You  couldn't  take  me,"  she  said,  with 
a  sad  little  smile.  "  If  you  see  my  people 
at  the  wharf,  tell  my  father — to — hurry !  " 

The  soldier's  cry  sounded  nearer.  "  All 
out !  Everybody  out !  "  and  Bianca's  fare- 
well whisper  came  from  under  the  bed  covers. 
"  Go  on,  Jimmy !  "  And  she  added :  "  I  hope 
— the  turkey  '11  get  fat — across  the  Bay." 

There  was  time  for  no  more.     The  soldier 


Earthquake  and  Fire         137 

had  come  back,  and  his  heavy  hand  fell  upon 
Jimmy  just  as  the  boy  left  the  cottage. 

"  What're  you  doing  here  ?  "  demanded 
the  soldier.  "  Don't  you  know  we  have 
orders  to  shoot  any  one  for  looting?  " 

The  boy  was  speechless  with  fear,  and  the 
soldier  pushed  him  aside. 

"  Get  along  now, — an'  don't  have  me  tell 
you  again !  "  he  said.  And  Jimmy  clasped 
his  turkey  closer  and  sped  up  the  walk. 
Bianca  was  again  alone,  save  for  the  baby, 
still  asleep  beside  her. 

A  strange  silence  fell;  not  so  much  a 
silence  as  an  absence  of  the  sounds  of  human 
life.  Occasionally  the  little  girl  could  hear 
the  distant  creak  of  a  trunk  being  dragged 
over  the  pavement  in  an  effort  to  save  a  few 
cherished  possessions  of  some  fleeing  house- 
holder ;  and  more  than  once  she  heard  a  shot, 
fired  in  enforcing  the  orders  of  military  con- 
trol. The  smoke  blurred  the  blue  of  the  sky, 
the  roar  of  the  fires  and  the  crash  of  falling 


138  The  Whimsy  Girl 

walls  sounded  nearer,  but  Bianca  understood 
little  of  what  all  of  this  meant.  She  knew 
only  that  she  was  a  prisoner,  and  in  the 
heart  of  many  dangers. 

Her  kitten  lay  tense  and  still,  its  wide  eyes 
eloquent  of  fright,  and  her  chicken  perched 
on  a  box  beside  her.  Both  little  creatures 
were  thrown  into  a  panic  by  the  entrance 
of  a  huge  rat  that  ran  in,  dashed  crazily 
about  the  room,  and  out  again  into  the  sun- 
shine. Bianca  soothed  her  pets,  and  as  she 
raised  her  crooning  voice,  a  faint,  frightened 
bleat  from  without  answered  her. 

"  It's  the  Connelly  goat's  baby,"  she  said 
aloud,  and  in  answer  to  her  soft  call  the 
whimpering  white  kid  trotted  in  and  confid- 
ingly thrust  his  nose  into  her  hand. 

The  Steinhauer  baby  wakened,  crying 
with  hunger;  the  day  had  begun  early  for 
every  one,  and  there  had  been  little  thought 
of  food  in  the  first  hours  of  the  panic.  He 
had  had  nothing  since  that  one  hurried  meal, 


Earthquake  and  Fire          139 

and  he  proceeded  to  cry  through  various 
phases  of  protest  until  he  tired  himself  out 
and  lay  there  sobbing. 

Bianca  petted  the  baby,  but  he  turned  in 
distaste  from  the  candy  that  she  offered,  and 
fretted  helplessly.  The  smoke  was  stifling, 
the  heat  unbearable,  and  the  fire  below  broad- 
ened and  grew  until  only  a  spreading  flame 
filled  the  window  that  had  been  her  moving 
picture,  alive  with  fascinating  detail.  The 
little  kid  bleated  at  every  frightening  sound, 
the  kitten  curled  closer  to  Bianca  for  com- 
fort, and  the  baby's  cry  subsided  to  a  half- 
sick  plaint  of  hunger. 

The  hours  wore  on.  The  fire  came  nearer, 
and,  fascinated,  she  watched  it  devour  the 
house  below  her,  and  the  trailing  honeysuckle, 
heavy  with  its  fairy  horns.  But  nothing 
seemed  to  matter;  her  valiant  spirit  was 
growing  faint  in  the  rising  tide  of  despair. 

She  hardly  heard  a  heavy  step  that 
sounded  from  without,  and  she  looked  up 


140  The  Whimsy  Girl 

dazed  when  Mr.  Steinhauer,  sobbing  and 
shaken,  the  tears  streaming  down  his  face, 
strode  into  the  house  and  seized  his  baby. 
He  was  out  again  without  a  word  to  her, 
murmuring  inarticulate  love  words  over  his 
little  son,  and  Bianca's  shocked  sense  of  his 
heartless  desertion  of  her  found  utterance 
in  a  shrill  scream  of  protest. 

A  cheery  whistle  blended  with  its  echoes, 
and  Bianca  held  her  breath  to  listen  to  the 
tap  of  swift-moving  crutches  on  the  walk. 
A  moment,  and  she  fell  back  in  gasping  re- 
lief to  her  pillow,  for  she  knew  before  he 
turned  the  corner  of  her  house  who  was  com- 
ing. It  was  the  Boy. 


CHAPTER  IX 

UNDEE  MARTIAL  LAW 

BIANCA  had  only  a  faint  idea  of  what  was 
happening  in  the  next  few  minutes.  She 
knew  that  the  Boy  gave  her  water  to  drink 
out  of  a  queer  leather  bottle  hung  on  a 
strap ;  and  she  was  vaguely  aware  that  she 
ate  something  out  of  a  box,  but  the  Boy 
would  not  allow  her  to  talk. 

"  It's  my  day  for  conversation,  Witchie," 
he  said.  "  All  you  have  to  do  is  to  listen 
and  obey." 

There  was  a  new  look  on  his  face,  a  deep- 
cut  seriousness,  for  the  Boy  had  seen  the 
city's  wounds,  and  could  gauge  the  extent 
of  its  injury. 

"The  machine's  at  the  top  of  the  hill," 
he  went  on.  "  The  doctor's  at  the  hospital, 
— too  busy  to  need  it,"  and  the  shadow 
141 


142  The  Whimsy  Girl 

again  touched  his  face,  "  so  I'm  going  to 
carry  you  off,  my  lady  princess,  and  present 
you  to  your  fairy  godmother.  That  little 
skirt  dance  of  the  elements  changed  our  plans 
for  to-day,  but  we'll  have  to  pick  up  the 
scraps  an'  patch  'em  together  again." 

He  had  wrapped  a  bed-quilt  about  her, 
lifting  her  with  deft,  professional  touches, 
and  Bianca's  interest  slowly  revived  as  he 
made  a  hasty  bundle  of  her  pillows  and  the 
rest  of  her  bedding. 

"  Goin'  ter  take  me  with  you?  "  she  asked. 

"  Good  guess,  Witchie.     I  sure  am." 

"  But  if  my  father  comes, — what'll  he  say 
if  I'm  not " 

"  I  don't  think  he'll  get  up  the  hill,"  said 
the  Boy,  the  grave  shadow  again  effacing 
his  lightness.  "  The  soldiers  won't  let  any 
one  by.  It  just  happened  that  I  knew  a 
bunch  of  the  University  cadets,  on  guard 
below  there,  and  they  let  me  through  the  lines 
when  I  told  them  that  I  was  coming  to  get 


Under  Martial  Law          143 

you.  I  picked  up  Mr.  Steinhauer  on  the 
way  and  got  him  through,  too." 

"  But,  Boy,"  she  protested,  "  how  are  you 
going  to  carry  me,  with  those  crutches  of 
yours  ?  " 

"  You  leave  that  to  me,"  he  retorted, 
flashing  her  a  smile  out  of  the  pallor  of  his 
face. 

"  Why,  all  the  fabled  knights  of  yore 
Had  only  two  legs;  I  have  four; 
My  extra  ones  are  mighty  good, 
Although  of  course  they're  made  of  wood 

"  I  don't  need  both  crutches  now,"  he 
broke  off,  swinging  back  into  a  reasoning, 
sober  tone.  "  And  you're  going  to  do  part 
of  this  little  moving  stunt  yourself.  Are  you 
game,  Bianca?  " 

"  Yes,  I'm  game,"  was  the  steady  answer. 

"Your  part  's  to  hold  on  tight  to  my 
neck;  I'll  devote  my  good  right  arm  to  sup- 
porting you,  and  will  reserve  my  left  hand 
for  leaning  upon  my  trusty  staff.  The 


144  The  Whimsy  Girl 

method  may  not  be  wholly  scientific,  but  it'll 
do." 

He  was  setting  the  pillows  under  her  as 
he  spoke. 

"  Ready  ?  "  he  asked,  slipping  his  arm  be- 
neath the  pillows. 

"  Just  a  minute,"  she  begged,  scooping  her 
wild-eyed  kitten  into  her  embrace  and  chirp- 
ing to  the  chicken  and  the  kid.  "  Now,"  she 
said,  and  held  the  kitten  in  the  hollow  of 
her  shoulder  as  she  raised  her  arms  to  put 
them  about  the  neck  of  the  Boy. 

"  Then  here  we  go !  "  The  Boy  made  a 
mighty  lift,  and  almost  lost  his  balance,  so 
little  weight  there  was  to  the  child,  even  in 
her  clumsy  wrappings. 

"  Rather  convenient  that  you're  made  of 
air,  Miss  Whimsy  Girl,"  he  observed,  as  he 
recovered  from  his  surprise.  "  Now,  then, 
hang  on.  Hang  on  hard.  And  if  it  makes 
you  dizzy,  close  your  eyes." 

The  little  one  closed  her  eyes  and  clung. 


Under  Martial  Law          145 

The  Boy  braced  himself  on  his  left  crutch 
and  started.  Out  at  the  doorway,  up  the 
hill  he  strained,  the  bleating  kid  trotting  at 
his  heels  and  the  chicken  scrambling  after. 
Bianca  held  close,  riding  lightly,  though  the 
Boy  felt  her  hold  relax  several  times  and  he 
knew  that  waves  of  weakness  and  dizziness 
were  making  her  faint.  She  did  not  open 
her  eyes  even  when  the  Boy  laid  her  down 
on  her  bedding  in  the  machine  at  the  top 
of  the  hill.  He  bent  over  her. 

"  I'm  not  frightened,"  she  gasped, 
"  but Oh,  Boy,  the  air's  so  big  out- 
side of  the  house !  " 

"  Come,  brace  up ! "  panted  the  Boy. 
"  You  promised  to  be  game,  Witchie."  And 
for  the  first  time  Bianca's  eyes  opened  upon 
the  city  of  her  birth,  to  see  it  in  its  death 
throes. 

Now  indeed  the  Boy  had  cause  for  alarm. 
The  blood  went  out  of  her  face,  and  a  series 
of  tremors  shook  her  as  she  took  in  one  after 


146  The  Whimsy  Girl 

another  of  the  stupendous  details.  The 
breadth  and  sweep  of  the  city,  the  un- 
imagined  reaches  of  street  and  highway 
spread  before  her,  the  panic  of  the  people 
in  the  blazing  streets  below,  the  roar  of  many 
conflagrations,  the  falling  of  huge  buildings, 
— all  cut  their  impressions  on  her  quivering 
nerves.  Instinctively,  as  the  Boy  stepped 
in  beside  her,  he  drew  her  face  against  his 
breast  and  held  her  quiet. 

"  Get  hold  of  yourself,  Bianca,"  he  urged. 
"  It's  pretty  bad,  I  know,  but  don't  be 
frightened.  Look  across  this  way,  where  the 
big  hills  are  still  playing  Sleeping  Beauty 
in  the  sun."  Very  gently  he  turned  her 
face  toward  the  Marin  hills  across  the  blue, 
untroubled  Bay.  The  maiden  mountain, 
Tamalpais,  lay  with  her  face  to  the  sky  and 
gave  them  the  changeless  view  of  her  serene 
profile,  and  the  waves  danced  about  the  base 
of  the  hills  and  scampered  out  to  frolic  with 
the  mists  beyond  the  Golden  Gate.  But  the 


Under  Martial  Law          147 

Whimsy  Girl  turned  her  heartsick  gaze  back 
to  the  city  in  its  agony,  her  big  eyes  filling 
with  the  woe  that  the  fire  had  wrought. 

"  Come,"  said  the  Boy,  peremptorily. 
"  I'm  going  to  get  you  out  of  this  in  a  hurry. 
Steady,  Witchie ! "  and  he  tucked  the 
covers  in  about  her.  "  Ready  to  start, 
now?  " 

"  We  won't  have  to  leave  the  little  goat?  " 
she  begged. 

"  Well,  no,"  and  the  Boy  lifted  the  small 
creature  in  beside  her.  The  chicken  was 
cradled  on  one  arm,  the  kitten  on  her  breast, 
and  the  Boy  was  about  to  crank  the  machine 
and  start  off  when  the  Whimsy  Girl  stopped 
him  with  a  gasp. 

"  I  forgot  —  Garibaldi !  "  she  sobbed. 
"You'll  go  back  an'  get  him,  won't  you? 
He's  in  a  yeast  powder  can  back  o'  the 
kitchen  stove." 

"Garibaldi?" 

"  Yes  ;  my  horned  toad." 


148  The  Whimsy  Girl 

The  Boy  was  divided  between  amusement 
and  impatience.  He  knew  how  slight  was 
the  Whimsy  Girl's  strength,  and  every  mo- 
ment of  delay  was  sapping  it  after  the  ter- 
rible strain  of  her  sudden  move,  but  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  obey  her. 

"Of  course  I'll  get  him,  Witchie."  He 
tried  to  make  the  tone  as  cheerful  as  pos- 
sible, but  the  effort  told,  and  he  felt  her 
grieved  gaze  following  him  as  he  swung  down 
the  walk. 

Garibaldi  was  comfortably  sitting  in  his 
yeast  powder  can  behind  the  kitchen  stove, 
untroubled  by  the  details  of  quaking  earth 
and  fire-razed  city,  and  the  Boy  picked  him 
up  in  his  can  and  hastened  back. 

To  his  dismay  he  found  that  Bianca  was 
no  longer  alone.  Two  of  the  regular  sol- 
diers had  come  up,  and  were  standing  at  the 
crank  handle  of  the  machine. 

"  This  your  car  ?  "  demanded  the  younger 
of  the  two. 


Under  Martial  Law          149 

"  My  father's — Dr.  Burchard's,"  the  Boy 
answered. 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry,  but  you'll  have  to  pile 
out  and  let  me  take  it." 

The  Boy's  face  flamed  incredulously. 

"Take— the  car?  Take  my  father's 
car?" 

"  Orders  from  headquarters,"  explained 
the  elder  soldier,  very  civilly.  "  We  have  to 
pick  up  every  machine  we  can  get  to  haul 
dynamite.  No  water  to  fight  the  fires ;  the 
general's  going  to  blast  out  a  fire  line; — 
dynamite  a  block  or  two  of  buildings  right 
across  the  city." 

It  was  a  new  and  appalling  idea  to  the 
Boy,  this  desperate  resource  of  fire  fighting, 
but  he  had  a  nearer  concern  at  heart,  and 
he  rallied  to  its  defence. 

"  But  can't  you  see " 

"  No,  we  can't !  "  It  was  the  impatient 
voice  of  the  soldier  who  had  first  spoken, 
and  the  Boy  turned  and  looked  at  him.  He 


150  The  Whimsy  Girl 

was  young,  evidently  inexperienced,  and  the 
panic  of  the  hour  held  him  at  nervous  ten- 
sion. 

"  But  I  have  to  get  this  little  girl 
out  of  the  city,"  pleaded  the  Boy.  "  I'm 
taking  her  to  a  friend  down  the  penin- 
sula." 

"  Can't  help  it,"  growled  the  man,  deter- 
mined and  angry.  "  What's  the  matter  ? 
Kid  sick?" 

"Sick?"  The  Boy's  whole  heart  went 
into  the  word.  "  She's  never  been  well  in 
her  life;  never  been  out  of  her  room  until 
this  hour.  My  father's  only  begun  to  cure 
her.  She  can't  walk." 

"That's  a  pretty  strong  bluff!"  scoffed 
the  soldier,  grim  and  unbelieving.  "  But  it 
doesn't  go  to-day.  Pile  out,  and  give  up  the 
car ! " 

"  But  I  can't  give  up  the  car !  "  protested 
the  Boy.  "  And  anyway  you  can't  manage 
it  even  if  you  do  take  it.  The  model's  a 


Under  Martial  Law          151 

new  one,  and  you'll  put  it  out  of  business 
if  you  go  fooling  with  it." 

"  Then  you'll  stay  with  it  and  run  it,"  was 
the  rejoinder.  The  Boy  looked  in  consterna- 
tion from  one  soldier  to  the  other. 

"  Can't  you  see  that  I  must  save  this 
child?  "  he  urged.  "  How  can  I " 

"  And  can't  you  see,  you  young  fool,  that 
the  city's  under  martial  law,  and  that 

"  Boy !  "  It  was  a  tremulous,  appealing 
cry  from  Bianca.  "  You  mustn't  think  of 
me!  I'm  only  one  little  girl,  an'  this  big 
city  has — oh,  hundreds  that  are  worth  more 
'n  me."  Her  voice  rose  in  strong  emotion. 
"  It's  our  city,  Boy ;  yours  an'  mine, — an' 
it  needs  the  car,  an'  it  needs  you ! " 

The  soldiers  stood  staring  at  the  child. 

"  You'll  go  for  the — dynamite,  won't  you? 
Of  course  he  will,  Mr.  Soldier.  He'll  put 
me  down  somewhere,  an'  come  back  an'  get 
me  when  he  can.  I'm  not  afraid." 

She  tried  to  rise  as  she  spoke,  but  her  face 


152  The  Whimsy  Girl 

blanched  with  the  effort  and  her  lips  tight- 
ened. 

"  Oh,  Witchie,  Witchie !  "  cried  the  Boy, 
bending  over  her,  his  heart  torn  with  pain 
and  distress. 

"  It's  straight,  Boy,"  she  whispered,  look- 
ing up  at  him  with  a  wan  smile.  "  You  can 
help  save  the  city,  an'  that's  worth  more  'n 
a  little  sick  kid  like  me.  I  can  be  game — 
an'  so  can  you.  You'll  go." 

The  Boy  was  throbbing  with  new  zeal 
under  her  spirited  words.  He  saw  the  city's 
desperate  strait,  and  the  picturesqueness  of 
the  detail,  the  desire  to  leap  into  danger  in 
the  service  of  the  place  of  his  birth,  pulled 
at  his  heart.  To  help,  to  have  a  part  in  the 
saving  of  the  city 

The  moment  passed,  and  he  saw  before  him 
only  the  child  in  her  helplessness,  her  need. 
He  could  not  leave  her,  though  every  stone 
in  the  city  crumble  into  ashes. 

"  Come  on !  "  the  younger  soldier  was  com- 


Under  Martial  Law          153 

manding.  "  You'll  run  the  car,  and  I'll  go 
with  you  and " 

"No!" 

"What?" 

"  I  won't  go."  The  Boy's  lips  were  set 
in  a  hard  line. 

"  You'll  have  to  go,  lad."  The  elder  man 
spoke  with  grave  kindliness.  "  You're  under 
martial  law " 

"  And  the  orders  are  to  shoot  any  one 
who  resists,"  grimly  added  the  other  sol- 
dier. 

The  Boy  looked  from  one  to  the  other. 
They  were  both  privates,  both  obeying 
orders;  further  discussion  would  be  useless. 
He  turned  to  the  older  man. 

"  Will  you  take  care  of  this  little  girl, — 
help  me  to  put  her  somewhere  where  she'll 
be  safe  until  I  can  get  back  to  her?  " 

"  Sure  I  will,"  heartily  assented  the  sol- 
dier. "  She's  the  gamest  young  one  I  ever 
saw.  Nothing  '11  happen  to  her  as  long  's 


154  The  Whimsy  Girl 

I  can  help.  Come.  Let's  get  down  to  the 
foot  of  the  hill." 

The  Boy  started  the  machine,  and  slowly 
made  his  way  down  the  north  side  of  the  hill. 
The  soldiers  were  silent  until  they  reached 
the  level  street,  and  then  the  elder  burst  out : 

"  'Twouldn't  do  you  any  good  even  if  we 
did  let  you  go  on  now.  Some  other  guard 
would  hold  you  up,  and  you  might  be  worse 
off." 

"  Yes,  I  know."  But  even  as  he  spoke  the 
Boy  was  looking  about  for  an  officer,  for 
some  one  in  authority  to  whom  he  might 
tell  his  story.  He  would  be  willing  to  give 
up  the  machine  now  if  he  could  but  stay 
with  Bianca. 

"  We'll  stop  here,"  said  the  soldier.  "  The 
bricks  are  not  quite  cool  yet,  but  the  fire's 
gone  past  for  good  ;  nothing  left  here  to  burn. 
We  can  make  her  comfortable,  and  I'll  watch 
her." 

Very    tenderly    he    helped    the    Boy    lift 


Under  Martial  Law          155 

Bianca  from  the  machine.  They  placed  her 
in  a  corner  of  the  fire-swept  space,  the  kitten, 
the  chicken,  Garibaldi  and  the  little  kid  with 
her. 

"  I'll  be  back  as  soon  as  I  can,  Witchie," 
the  Boy  promised.  "  If  I  can  get  the  atten- 
tion of  one  of  the  army  officers " 

She  stopped  him.  "  Don't  think  about 
me,"  she  whispered.  "  Think  of  the  city. 
I'll  be  here  when  you  come  back.  I  won't 
run  away." 

The  pathetic  smile  that  accompanied  her 
jest  was  almost  too  much  for  the  Boy.  He 
hastened  back  to  the  machine  and  dashed 
away,  the  grim  military  guard  seated  beside 
him,  and  he  did  not  dare  glance  back  at  the 
little  girl  whose  need  of  his  service  seemed 
to  him  greater  than  that  of  the  city  he 
loved. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN   THE  HOUR   OF   DISASTER 

Two  pictures  stand  clearly  out  in  the  narra- 
tives of  many  whose  business  kept  them  in 
the  city  during  her  dreadful  struggle  with 
the  fire. 

One  is  of  a  youth  who  dashed  through  the 
city  streets  in  a  high-geared  automobile,  with 
a  canvas  sign  marked  "  Dynamite  "  hung  to 
its  sides.  A  private  soldier  rode  with  him, 
keeping  a  steady  hand  on  the  dangerous 
freight,  but  the  lad  did  not  speak  nor  did 
he  look  to  right  or  left.  Like  some  stern 
spirit  from  another  sphere  he  seemed  as  he 
drove  his  powerful  car,  his  fair  hair  blown 
behind  him  in  the  wind,  his  eyes  blazing  out 
of  the  smoke-blackened  sockets,  his  dry  lips 
grimly  set.  At  times  he  stood  forward  in 
the  car,  as  though  to  urge  it  to  higher  speed, 
156 


In  the  Hour  of  Disaster      157 

and  then  it  was  observed  that  he  leaned  upon 
a  single  crutch.  His  hat  was  gone,  his  cloth- 
ing scorched  in  many  places  from  too  close 
contact  with  the  flames  that  were  devouring 
the  city.  For  many  hours  he  kept  at  his 
task.  No  one  knew  how  many  trips  he  made. 
No  one  knew  how  many  loads  of  dynamite 
he  delivered  to  the  fire-fighters  who  blasted 
down  great  blocks  of  buildings,  cutting  a 
swath  that  the  fire  could  not  cross.  In  the 
peril  and  confusion  of  the  day  no  one  took 
note  of  his  despairing  attempts  to  get  the 
attention  of  the  military  officers  whom  he 
encountered,  that  he  might  lay  before  them 
the  story  of  the  child  who  needed  him.  And 
no  one  knew  how  long  it  was  before  he  suc- 
ceeded, and  turning  the  automobile  over  to 
the  authorities,  disappeared  from  the  ranks 
of  the  fire-fighters. 

The  other  picture  lingers  in  the  minds  of 
those  who  regret  the  pitiful  waste  of  life 
in  the  city's  hour  of  stress. 


158  The  Whimsy  Girl 

A  guard  of  soldiers  had  been  set  around 
the  fire  limits,  and  no  one  was  permitted  to 
pass  through  to  the  blazing  section.  Up 
from  the  fishermen's  wharves  came  an  excited 
man,  demanding,  begging,  pleading  in  in- 
adequate English  that  he  be  permitted  to  get 
to  the  top  of  Telegraph  Hill. 

He  was  headed  off  at  many  points,  for 
no  one  understood  his  distracted  babble  about 
a  little  girl  left  alone  in  one  of  the  shacks 
above.  Many  times  he  was  forced  to  turn 
back,  but  he  persisted.  Presently  at  a  point 
where  the  fire  was  most  fierce  the  man  made 
a  dash  through  the  lines  straight  for  the 
blazing  barrier  between  him  and  the  road  to 
the  hill. 

There  was  a  sharp  command  from  the  sen- 
try, but  before  the  words  were  half  out  the 
spectators  heard  a  crash,  and  saw  the  man 
go  down  under  the  plunge  of  a  falling  wall. 

"  Said  somethin'  about  a  little  girl,  didn't 
he?"  one  soldier  asked. 


In  the  Hour  of  Disaster      159 

"  Yes ;  said  that  she  was  left  up  on  the 
top  o'  the  hill,  but  there's  no  one  up  there. 
I  went  through  every  one  of  those  houses 
myself." 

The  incident  went  down  in  a  sea  of  dire 
happenings  on  that  day.  The  soldier  could 
not  know  that  he  had  left  any  human  beings 
on  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  Bianca,  huddled 
with  her  pets  in  her  sheltered  corner  of  the 
fire-levelled  space,  could  not  know  that  the 
hour  had  left  her  fatherless. 


CHAPTER  XI 

COMPANIONS  IN  PERIL 

ALL  through  the  scorching  heat  of  the  long 
afternoon  Bianca  crouched  in  her  corner 
near  the  uncooled  bricks  and  waited  for  the 
Boy.  She  was  silent,  save  for  an  occasional 
low  word  to  one  of  her  pets,  as  she  lay 
listening  to  the  dreadful  roar  of  the  great 
fires  and  the  horrid  din  of  the  dynamite 
blasts. 

A  few  stragglers  aimlessly  drifted  by,  or 
were  herded  along  by  the  military  guard,  but 
no  one  came  near  her.  She  was  alert  and 
watchful,  at  first,  but  the  strain  of  the  ap- 
palling sounds  of  destruction  wore  her  into 
physical  faintness,  and  she  drifted  into  a  sort 
of  waking  swoon. 

The  hours  went  on,  each  one  adding  new 
160 


Companions  in  Peril         161 

terrors  to  the  plight  of  the  city.  Toward 
night  the  soldier  came  to  her,  bringing  food, 
queer  bits  that  he  had  foraged;  he  also 
brought  water,  not  cool  and  not  clear,  but 
still  water,  and  the  little  girl  drank  grate- 
fully. 

"  'Fraid  your  friend  can't  get  back  very 
soon,  Sis,"  he  offered,  sympathetically. 
"  They've  thrown  a  strong  guard  around  the 
fire  line,  and  he  can't  get  through  unless 
he  happens  to  strike  me  or  one  of  the  fel- 
lows that  I've  told  about  you.  Can't  tell 
how  soon  he'll  get  here.  Not  afraid,  are 
you?". 

Deep  in  her  heart  was  a  mighty  quaver, 
but  she  kept  it  out  of  her  voice. 

"  No,  I'm  not  afraid,"  she  bravely  as- 
serted, and  the  soldier  went  away  with  sting- 
ing moisture  in  his  eyes. 

The  sunlight  rolled  up  over  the  hill,  and 
the  shadow  took  its  place ;  and  when  this  was 
well  established  the  flaming  fires  cast  their 


162  The  Whimsy  Girl 

weird  patterns  on  it.  Through  the  murk  of 
smoke  a  faint  star  gleamed,  and  was  at  once 
overcast.  Night  deepened  in  the  sky,  and 
against  it  the  fire-painted  smoke  hung,  a  mass 
of  molten  metal,  drifting  gold. 

The  noise  of  the  fire  strife  moved  farther 
off,  but  suddenly  Bianca  was  conscious  of  a 
new  sound,  a  queer,  faint  whimpering,  and 
she  looked  about.  It  was  night,  but  the  glow 
of  the  blazing  city  lighted  everything,  and 
Bianca  could  see  an  odd  group  coming  over 
the  tumbled  brick  and  debris  toward  her 
corner; — a  tiny  Chinese  woman,  with  three 
crying  almond-eyed  children  clinging  about 
her. 

The  Whimsy  Girl  waited  until  they  were 
quite  close  before  she  spoke. 

"  Not  afraid,  are  you  ?  "  she  queried,  glad 
of  any  human  companionship. 

The  Chinese  mother  started  violently,  a 
new  fear  putting  a  tremor  into  her  raucous 
tones. 


Companions  in  Peril          163 

"Can't  you  talk  any  English?"  pursued 
Bianca,  and  the  Oriental  lady  thrust  forward 
the  eldest  of  her  children,  a  girl  of  about 
seven. 

"  Me — alia  same — English  speak,"  she  an- 
nounced. 

"  You  don't  say ! "  cordially  rejoined 
Bianca.  "  Well,  come  right  along  an'  speak. 
'R'  y'  hungry,  kid?  " 

"  Hungry — are  we — very,"  replied  the 
child. 

"  Then  here's  where  you  get  in  right," 
asserted  Bianca,  and  she  uncovered  the  food 
that  the  soldier  had  brought  her.  With  a 
word  to  the  mother  the  children  came  for- 
ward, ravenous. 

"  The  goat  had  a  bite  o'  this,  but  he  didn't 
like  it,"  apologised  Bianca,  proffering  a  sour 
pickle  to  the  smallest  of  the  children.  "  Jim- 
iny !  I  believe  a  Chink  'd  eat  anything,"  she 
pursued,  for  the  small  Chinese  ate  the  morsel 
with  avidity. 


164  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  We  not  Chink — we  merchant  Chinese," 
defended  the  eldest  child.  "  I  go  public 
school;  read  'Melican,  speak  'Melican." 

"  Yes ;  you  eat  'Melican,  too,"  observed 
Bianca.  "  Why  don't  you  give  your  mother 
something?  " 

Rebuked,  the  hungry  child  darted  back 
and  drew  the  mother  into  the  group  about 
Bianca,  and  there  in  the  red  glow  of  the 
great  fire  the  Chinese  family  sat  and  ate 
of  the  Whimsy  Girl's  fare. 

After  a  little,  Bianca's  guests  recovered 
somewhat  from  their  fright.  They  had  been 
separated  from  their  people  early  in  the  day ; 
the  father  had  gone  back  on  some  errand 
and  had  not  rejoined  them.  This  Bianca 
learned  from  the  eldest  girl,  who,  besides  go- 
ing to  the  public  school,  attended  the  Mission 
Sabbath  classes,  in  proof  of  which  she  sang, 
in  a  funny  little  voice: 

"  A  sunbeam,  a  sunbeam, 
I'll  be  a  sunbeam  for  Him." 


Companions  in  Peril          165 

It  was  hard  for  the  Whimsy  Girl  to  be 
politely  grave  during  the  performance;  her 
weakness  had  slipped  from  her  in  the  ex- 
hilaration of  finding  companions,  and  her 
spirits  were  pitched  at  their  highest;  but 
she  achieved  a  passing  semblance  of  serious- 
ness, and  the  Chinese  child  talked  on  of 
school  and  street  experiences. 

"  And  stories  ?  "  put  in  Bianca,  in  a  pause 
of  the  small  girl's  chatter.  "  Do  you  Chinese 
kids  have  stories  ?  " 

"  Stories  ?  "  echoed  Lao  Tai,  uncertainly. 

"  Yes,"  explained  the  Whimsy  Girl. 
"  Like  this :  Once  upon  a  time  the  stars  that 
we  know  are  up  there  in  the  sky  were 
naughty;  they  were  told  to  put  out  their 
lights  an'  go  to  sleep  at  a  certain  time,  an' 
they  didn't. 

"  One  o'  them  slipped  back  the  hands  o' 
the  clock,  an'  another  sang  songs  to  keep 
them  awake,  an'  they  stayed  out,  twinkling 
an'  playing  with  the  world  down  below. 


166  The  WUmsy  Girl 

"  An'  the  king  of  the  skies  was  angry,  an* 
he  piled  up  those  mountains  of  copper  cloud 
an'  shut  the  stars  in — : — " 

"  Yes,  yes,"  burst  in  Lao  Tai.  "  That  is 
what  happens — always — when  we  not  obey. 
My  people — Chinese  people — all  obey.  Once 
a  great  poet  is  there.  The  Emperor  tell  him 
cut  off  his  own  head.  He  cut  off  own  head, 
throw  it  across  the  river  to  the  Emperor's 
feet " 

"Well,  that's  going  some,"  blankly  ob- 
served Bianca. 

"  An'  one  other — his  name  I  not  know — 
they  want  his  hands  for  the  temple.  He 
cut  them  off,  tie  them  together,  write  letter 
that  say :  *  I  obey  ! '  " 

Bianca  stared  a  moment,  and  then  shook 
her  head.  "  You're  'way  out  o'  my  class, 
Chinkie,"  she  observed,  and  changed  the  sub- 
ject. 

The  Chinese  baby,  lovingly  clutching  the 
kitten,  had  fallen  asleep  beside  the  little  white 


Companions  in  Peril          167 

kid;  the  eldest  child  was  yawning,  and  the 
second  girl  was  snuggled  close  to  her  mother. 
The  fires  blazed  on  all  sides,  and  the  great 
pall  of  black  smoke  mounted,  a  gigantic  cross 
in  formation,  against  the  fiery  sky.  The 
hours  were  all  alike;  there  was  no  count  of 
time.  But  the  children  were  weary ;  gradu- 
ally drowsiness  overcame  them  and  they  slept, 
Bianca  and  the  little  aliens,  watched  over 
by  the  Chinese  mother,  whose  slant  eyes  did 
not  close  through  the  long  night. 

Toward  dawn  Bianca  awakened  with  a 
stinging  pain  in  her  hip ;  the  out-of-doors 
chill  was  affecting  the  relaxed  joint,  and 
the  old  suffering  was  renewed  as  she  lay,  fear- 
ing to  move  lest  she  disturb  her  sleeping 
companions.  The  pain  increased,  and  settled 
into  a  dragging  numbness  that  made  her 
faint  and  sick  by  turns. 

The  fires  were  still  roaring,  the  dynamite 
blasts  still  booming,  but  Bianca  had  only  a 
confused  sense  of  the  meaning  of  the  sounds. 


168  The  Whimsy  Girl 

She  was  drifting  in  a  trance  of  pain,  and 
she  hardly  roused  even  when  the  alert  Chi- 
nese mother  started  up  and  drew  nearer  to 
her  babies.  Something  must  have  alarmed 
her,  Bianca  thought  vaguely,  and  turned  her 
head  away,  indifferent  to  everything. 

The  rustle  of  soft  clothing  called  her  back. 
Her  heavy  lids  lifted,  and  she  gazed  up  into 
a  lovely  face  framed  in  a  soft  fluff  of  fair 
hair.  There  were  tears — tears  for  her — in 
the  sweet  eyes,  but  Bianca's  amazement 
found  no  words,  even  when  she  heard  the 
Boy's  voice,  tender,  deeply-moved,  caress- 
ing: 

"  Say  good-morning  to  your  fairy  god- 
mother, little  Whimsy  Girl.  Only  for  her 
magic  powers  we  never  would  have  been  al- 
lowed through  the  military  lines." 

The  little  girl  gazed  at  him,  dazed. 

"  I  couldn't  get  back,  you  know.  I  tried 
all  night  long." 

Bianca  was  too  far  spent  for  words,  and 


Companions  in  Peril          169 

the  Boy's  control  broke  as  he  bent  and  gath- 
ered her  up  in  his  arms. 

"  Witchie !  Oh,  Witchie,  you  poor  little 
soul !  "  he  cried. 

She  saw  Mrs.  Hallowell  stoop  to  pick  up 
her  pets,  and  a  deep  tide  of  content  swept 
her  under  as  she  slipped  her  arms  about  the 
Boy's  neck  and  clung  to  him.  He  carried 
her  out,  over  the  scattered  brick  and 
crumbled  mortar,  and  the  little  girl  knew 
no  more  of  earthquake  and  fire  and  ruin. 


CHAPTER  XII 


NOT    HEAVEN, BUT    HOME  " 


BIANCA  lay  in  a  big  wheeled  chair  drawn  up 
to  a  French  window  that  opened  on  a  veranda 
rich  in  blossoming  flower  boxes.  The  Boy 
sat  on  a  daintily-draped  rocking  chair  be- 
side her,  the  humorous  lights  in  his  eyes  glint- 
ing as  he  looked  at  her. 

"  It's  hard  to  believe  that  it's  only  three 
days  since  that  awful  time,  an'  that  the  fire's 
all  put  out,  an'  that  nobody's  afraid  any 
more." 

"  Well,  you  have  to  believe  it,"  retorted 
the  Boy.  "  Believe  it  good  and  hard,  once 
and  for  all,  and  then  forget  it." 

"  Forget  it?  " 

"  Orders  from  the  doctor,"  declared  the 
Boy,  briskly.  "  You're  not  to  see  the  city 
170 


"Not  Heaven, — but  Home"    171 

again  until  you  can  walk  its  streets,  so  don't 
hold  any  grudge  against  it  because  you  saw 
it  first  in — well,  in  some  disorder." 

"  But  my  own  people,  Boy " 

"  I've  told  you  about  them,"  said  the  Boy, 
"  so  get  them  off  your  chest.  They're  in 
good  hands,  and  they'll  be  well  cared  for. 
Tonia  is  combing  her  own  hair  and  little  Va- 
lencia's. Your  step-mother  has  time  enough 
for  the  others,  because  the  Steinhauers  are 
gone  and  she  isn't  too  strenuously  employed. 
Now  you  cut  it  all  out  and  forget  it." 

He  was  uneasy  while  she  lingered  so  close 
to  the  topic  of  the  fire.  He  dared  not  tell 
her  of  her  father,  and  it  was  difficult  to 
prevent  her  from  speaking  of  him.  He  did 
not  care  to  have  her  know,  either,  that  her 
little  castle  on  the  cliff  had  gone  down,  a 
heap  of  refuse  lumber,  under  the  shocks  of 
the  earthquake  and  the  dynamite  blasts. 
His  honest  soul  did  not  take  kindly  to  con- 
cealment, and  he  hurried  her  along. 


172  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  Tell  me  how  you  like  this  place,"  he 
suggested. 

"  How  I  like  it?  Why,  kid,  I  couldn't  tell 
you  'less  I  had  twenty  tongues,  all  made  to 
wiggle  at  once." 

"  Heaven  defend  us !  "  exclaimed  the  Boy. 
"  But  it  is  pretty,  isn't  it,  Bianca  ?  This 
is  just  the  room  for  a  girl." 

"  It's  like  living  in  a  candy  box,"  said  the 
Whimsy  Girl.  "  All  lace  an'  whiteness  an' 
sweetness  an'  pinkness,"  and  she  glanced  at 
the  white  enamelled  woodwork,  the  polished 
floor  and  the  gleaming  mirrors  of  the  room. 
"  When  I  saw  the  flowers  hangin'  on  the 
wall  I  thought  they  grew  there,  until  Mrs. 
Hallowell  told  me  they  were  just  painted  on 
paper.  An'  every  chair  in  the  room  has  a 
flowered  petticoat  on  it.  Some  class,  I 
think." 

"  Yes,  a  good  deal  of  class,"  said  the  Boy, 
looking  at  the  chintz-covered  furniture. 

"  An'  confirmation  veils  hung  on  the  win- 


"Not  Heaven,— but  Home"  173 
dows;  what  d'  you  know  about  that?" 
pursued  Bianca,  her  eyes  round  with 
wonder. 

"  Confirmation — oh,  the  net  curtains," 
smiled  the  Boy. 

"  But  the  queerest  thing  of  all," — and 
Bianca's  voice  dropped  in  awe, — "  is  about 
the  light.  She  jus'  says :  *  It's  getting  dark,' 
— an'  there  comes  the  light,  in  all  the  little 
glass  balloons,  'thout  anybody  touchin'  it." 

"  Oh,  not  quite,  Witchie,"  laughed  the  Boy. 
"  It's  electric  light,  and  it's  connected  by 
wires  inside  of  the  walls.  She  presses  a 
button " 

"  She  doesn't  wear  buttons,"  asserted 
Bianca. 

"  I  mean  the  button  on  the  wall,"  said  the 
Boy,  again  in  amused  explanation.  "  Here, 
I'll  show  you,"  and  he  rose  to  press  a  button 
in  the  wall  switch,  filling  the  glass  "  bal- 
loons "  with  incandescent  light. 

Bianca  watched  the  bulbs,  enchanted. 


174  The  Whimsy  Girl 

"  Isn't  it  just  like  magic?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  agreed  the  Boy,  "  and  I'll 
show  you  something  else  that's  like  magic, 
too." 

He  carried  the  hand  mirror  from  the 
dresser.  "  Look  in,  Witchie." 

The  little  girl  looked,  and  her  face  flushed 
a  deep  and  startled  pink  as  she  recognised 
herself  in  the  pretty  reflection.  A  lace- 
trimmed  negligee  was  gathered  close  around 
her,  and  a  huge  bow  of  rose-tinted  ribbon 
fastened  her  dark,  curling  hair. 

In  deep  embarrassment  she  gave  him  back 
the  mirror.  "  Take  it  away,  Boy.  The  kids 
on  the  hill  would  never  know  me  with  all 
these  fancy  touches,"  but  she  patted  the  lace 
appreciatively,  and  her  hand  stole  up  again 
to  the  soft  silk  bow  on  her  hair.  The  Boy 
resumed  his  seat. 

"  Do  you  know,"  she  confided,  after  a  mo- 
ment, "  they  washed  me  in  a  big  pudding 
dish  in  that  little  room.  An'  'stead  of  heat- 


"Not  Heaven,— but  Home"    175 

ing  the  water  in  a  wash  boiler  on  the  kitchen 
stove,  they  just  made  it  run  out  o'  the 
faucet  hot!  Hot  water  right  out  of  a 
faucet!  Isn't  that  great?  " 

"  Marvellous ! "  agreed  the  Boy.  "  But 
not  more  so  than  many  things  you'll  see, 
now  that  you're  living  with  a  fairy  god- 
mother." 

"  Robert,  I  won't  have  you  call  me  such 
a  name,"  protested  Mrs.  Hallowell,  coming 
into  the  room.  "  I  shan't  have  Bianca  think 
me  anything  but  simply  and  substantially 
human.  And  you  and  Donald  both  know 
that  I  can  scold  upon  occasion."  She  looked 
up  at  him  with  an  assumption  of  severity 
delightfully  absurd  in  a  tiny  blonde  lady 
who  could  easily  fit  under  his  arm. 

The  Boy  frankly  laughed  at  her,  but  with 
a  tender  deference  that  won  him  a  smile. 
Mrs.  Hallowell  came  to  Bianca,  and  bent 
over  her  with  caressing  touches. 

"  That's  what  it  is  to  have  two  sons,"  she 


176  The  Whimsy  Girl 

said,  "  and  never  a  daughter  at  all.  Bianca, 
you  must  learn  to  help  me  deal  with  this 
masculine  presumption.  Fairy,  indeed !  " 

"  But  you  know  you  do  seem  like  one," 
said  Bianca. 

The  Boy  laughed.  "  Guilty  as  charged," 
he  said  to  Mrs.  Hallowell.  "  But  come !  If 
we're  to  show  your  domain  to  the  Princess 
of  the  Hilltop,  let's  start,"  and  he  deftly 
guided  the  big  chair  out  to  the  veranda. 

A  tide  of  sweet  odours  from  the  blossom- 
ing garden  beds  engulfed  them  as  they  came 
out  from  the  French  windows,  and  the 
Whimsy  Girl  caught  her  breath  in  ec- 
stasy. 

"Oh!"  she  exclaimed.  "It's  just  as 
though  all  the  cinnamon  an'  spice  an'  sugar 
an'  orange  juice — all  the  sweetness  in  the 
world — had  been  spilled  right  here !  " 

"  Part  of  it  comes  from  the  sweet-pea 
trellises,"  smilingly  said  the  Boy,  and  he 
indicated  the  blossom-laden  frames. 


"Not  Heaven, — but  Home"    177 

"  Sweet-peas  ?  "  questioned  Bianca.  "  Oh, 
those  little  cloud  flowers!  They  look  like 
pink  an'  white  baby  clouds  caught  on  the 
horns  o'  the  green  stems,  don't  they?" 

Mrs.  Hallowell  smiled  and  agreed,  as  she 
helped  guide  the  chair  down  the  broad,  shal- 
low stairway  into  the  garden. 

"  Oh,  look !  "  Bianca  suddenly  exclaimed. 
"  A  million  velvet  penwipers,  all  colours !  " 

"  Where?  Oh,  you  mean  my  pansies,"  said 
Mrs.  Hallowell.  "  They're  my  pet  flowers, 
Bianca,  and  I  expect  you  to  help  me  love 
them." 

From  wonder  to  wonder  they  passed; 
through  the  rose  garden,  Bianca's  delicate 
nostrils  quivering  with  delight  at  the  per- 
fume, past  the  lily  beds,  where  the  excited 
little  girl  discovered  "  all  the  new  baby  but- 
terflies learning  to  dance,"  past  poppies  that 
were  "  showing  off "  and  petunias  that 
"  looked  like  rag  babies  " ;  into  every  charm- 
ing corner  of  the  sun-bathed  garden  they 


178  The  Whimsy  Girl 

went,  the  Whimsy  Girl  drinking  deep  of  un- 
dreamed delights.  But  she  refused  to  ap- 
prove of  the  hot-house. 

"  I'm  sure  the  flowers  in  there  are  not 
happy,"  she  said.  "  They're  like  kids  that 
never  get  outdoors.  But  maybe  they  don't 
know  about  it,"  she  went  on,  her  changing 
face  shadowed  again.  "  I  didn't  know  until 
three  days  ago  how  big  the  sky  is,  and  how 
much  room  there  is  under  it  for  all  the  winds 
to  blow." 

In  the  next  breath  she  discovered  a  new 
marvel,  and  eagerly  pointed  it  out  to  the 
Boy. 

"  That  buzzy  thing — there — among  the 
fairy  horns,"  she  said.  "  He  looks  like  a 
knot  of  little  rainbows  !  " 

"  It's  a  humming  bird,"  said  the  Boy,  with 
a  laugh,  but  he  was  serious  in  the  next  mo- 
ment. They  had  paused  at  the  honeysuckle 
arbour,  which  was  to  be  Bianca's  out-door 
chamber,  and  while  the  ecstatic  little  girl 


" Not  Heaven, — but  Home"    179 

watched  the  "  knot  of  rainbows,"  his  eyes  and 
Mrs.  Hallowell's  met  in  a  significant  glance. 
It  spoke  of  many  trying  days  in  store  for 
the  Whimsy  Girl,  but  it  also  pledged  un- 
failing love  and  sympathy  to  help  her 
through  them. 

Back  again  to  the  entrance  of  the  beauti- 
ful house  they  came,  Bianca  in  a  glow  of 
joy  and  wonder. 

"  How  do  you  think  you're  going  to 
like  this  place,  Witchie? "  asked  the 
Boy. 

"  Like  it !  "  Bianca  gave  a  mighty  sigh. 
"  It  can't  really  be  part  of  the  world.  Is 
it  Heaven  ?  " 

Mrs.  Hallowell  bent  down  to  her.  She 
saw  the  long  hours  of  pain  and  patience 
ahead  of  the  little  girl ;  the  weary  days  and 
sleepless  nights,  and  the  time  of  her  sorrow, 
for  some  day  she  must  be  told  of  her  father's 
death.  All  of  this  went  through  her  mind, 
and  her  big  mother-heart  went  out  to  the 


180  The  Whimsy  Girl 

child,  whose  way  had  been  marked  so  hard. 
She  gathered  Bianca  close  in  her  arms. 

"  No,  darling,"  she  said,  "  no,  little 
Whimsy  Girl.  Don't  call  it  Heaven.  Call 
it — home !  " 


THE  END 


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